Weddings at Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Monroe’s green eyes glimmered with excitement. “This makes it sound like my house is nearly finished,” he said as he arranged a layer of seasoned hamburger on his hash browns. He glanced across the table at Christine. “You should go to Forest Grove with me and pick out what you want, dear. I have no idea what sort of faucet and sink you’d like in your kitchen.”

  “The mercantile has a good selection,” Allen put in. His haystack had grown tall with meat, cooked onions, stewed tomatoes, and bell peppers, and he was ladling cheese sauce over the entire mound. “When I went there earlier this week, I found all the stuff I’ll need for the places at Promise Lodge and for wherever else I find work.”

  Rosetta spooned stewed tomatoes onto her haystack, considering what Allen had said. He’d be looking for work shortly, because he’d already done the plumbing for the Helmuths’ home and nursery buildings. “You might talk to Truman,” she suggested. “He’s contracted for some extensive landscaping jobs at three new townhome communities. They’ll surely need plumbing and electrical work.”

  “Truman’s taking Lester with him to install windows and siding, starting next week,” Monroe said. “Couldn’t hurt to ask him. He certainly got Noah hooked up with a number of contractors.”

  Allen’s face lit up. “That would be fabulous! I’ll give Wickey a call when I’ve finished eating—which might be a while, considering how much stuff I’ve piled on my plate!”

  Rosetta laughed along with Ruby and Beulah. It amazed her how much Allen, Jonathan, and Cyrus ate at a meal, so she was glad the Kuhn sisters were preparing more of everything they cooked these days. Although they were very slender, Sam and Simon kept up with burly Monroe plateful for plateful, so it wasn’t long before all of the men were passing the bowls of vegetables and ground beef to build their second haystacks. Conversation was lively, and the topic evolved to what colors Barbara and Bernice wanted their walls painted.

  “Tell you what,” said Monroe. He stepped into the kitchen for a pen and pad of paper. “While Christine and I are in town, we’ll pick up the paint for your place and mine—”

  “And I bet my girls, along with Lily and Fannie, will be willing to do that painting for you,” Christine said. “They’ve painted nearly every house we’ve built, so they’re quick—and they’re tidy about it. They turn it into a frolic.”

  “It’s always more fun to work in somebody else’s house than your own,” Beulah said with a chuckle. She smiled at Amos’s twin daughters, who were looking rosy-cheeked and round. “If you let the girls paint, you ladies-in-waiting won’t be tempted to climb ladders or wear yourselves to a frazzle.”

  “You don’t have to ask us twice,” Barbara teased.

  Bernice nodded in agreement. “We’ve never been keen on painting, so we’re happy to let the girls do it. I’ve always been partial to butter yellow, pale blue, and white.”

  “Jah, those colors go with all the furniture we’ve brought,” Barbara said.

  “Duly noted,” Monroe said as he jotted his shopping list. He glanced at the Kuhn sisters. “Do you ladies need baking supplies or—”

  When the lodge’s front door slammed, everyone turned toward the lobby. A young woman was carrying large, white bakery boxes stacked so high they couldn’t see her face—until Maria carefully set them on the nearest table. She appeared flustered, downright overwhelmed, as she looked at everyone who was seated.

  “Okay, so I’ve baked my normal amount of stuff for the past three days,” she said in a rush. “I even took boxes of doughnuts and muffins to Cloverdale yesterday, but I didn’t sell them all—and nobody’s coming here to buy anything. I can’t go on this way! I’m flat-out broke.”

  When Maria burst into tears, Allen and the two Helmuth cousins eyed the stack of white boxes. When Allen scooted his chair back from the table, Cyrus and Jonathan followed him over to see what sorts of goodies Maria had brought. They opened all the boxes, inhaling the aroma of yeast and sugar and spices.

  “So what’re you charging for this stuff ?” Cyrus asked.

  Maria sniffled loudly. “If—if I get a dollar apiece, I’ll break even.”

  Rosetta’s eyes widened. She shared a glance with Ruby and Beulah, who also realized that Maria’s ingredients hadn’t cost her nearly that much, because she bought them in bulk. Although the young men might be willing to pay that price, Rosetta and the Kuhns wouldn’t make a habit of supporting Maria’s bakery, because they baked goodies that would feed more people for less money.

  Dollar bills were landing on the table as the three younger men chose what they wanted. When Christine went to the kitchen to fetch plates for them, Monroe, Sam, and Simon also purchased a few pastries apiece. After the men had finished buying, Maria rearranged the pieces that remained. She smiled hopefully at Rosetta, Christine, and the Kuhns.

  “I still have three boxes of apple fritters, doughnuts, Danish, and muffins,” she entreated. “You wouldn’t have to bake dessert or breakfast for days.”

  Rosetta clenched her jaw so she wouldn’t say things she might regret about Maria’s business practices.

  Beulah rose from her chair to look at the three boxes of pastries. She counted them silently with her finger. “You’ve got about six dozen pieces here,” she said, “but why would I pay seventy-two dollars for them, when for the same money I could make enough coffee cakes, muffins, and cinnamon rolls to cover two or three of these dining room tables?”

  Ruby nodded in agreement. “Jah, I could see paying you half that amount, and freezing your goodies to serve with breakfast when folks come for Rosetta and Truman’s wedding,” she said in a businesslike tone. “But we can’t be your everyday customers, Maria. Rosetta would have to raise our rent to cover the increase in our food budget. Even with the profit we make at our cheese factory, we can’t afford that.”

  “Well, we could afford it, but we don’t want to,” Beulah clarified.

  The dining room got very quiet. Maria’s face turned pink while everyone waited for her response. “Rosetta and Truman are getting married?” she murmured. “Um, maybe I could make their wedding cake—”

  “I’ve already got the layers baked and in the freezer, waiting for April fifth!” Ruby said.

  Rosetta told herself she shouldn’t feel so gratified by Maria’s baffled expression. Was the blonde really surprised to hear about the wedding? Or was Maria upset because the Kuhns had refused to bankroll her bakery?

  After some hesitation, Maria sighed. “Okay, I’ll sell it all to you for thirty dollars—fifty percent,” she said with a shake of her head. “But—but how am I supposed to stay in business? I paid all that money to get my building moved, and—”

  Monroe gave her an encouraging smile. “Have you advertised? Put any signs up in Cloverdale, inviting folks to visit you at your new location?” he asked. “You could also post cards on the bulletin boards in the Forest Grove stores, like Mattie did last year for her produce stand.”

  “I’d be willing to build you a sign for the roadside,” Allen offered. “We could put it alongside the sign for Mattie’s produce stand, pointing through the entryway to your bakery.”

  “That’s a gut idea,” Maria said. “But it’ll be a while before her stand is open—”

  “Probably late April,” Christine put in. “Our first salad vegetables should be ready by then.”

  Maria’s forlorn sigh filled the dining room. Rosetta wondered if she was making a play for more pity from the men—and then reminded herself that such an uncharitable attitude didn’t sit well with God. I’m sorry, Lord. Forgive me for thinking ill of Maria when she’s having financial difficulties.

  Beulah said, “I’ll go fetch some money from my coffee can, and I’ll pay you the thirty-six dollars we agreed to. The first rule of running a business is not to cheat yourself by taking less than folks offer you.”

  As Ruby followed her sister into the kitchen, Rosetta again kept her remarks to herself. Maria’s expression suggested that she hadn’t taken the ti
me to note that half of seventy-two dollars was thirty-six, rather than thirty. Considering how moving her bakery had been a lot more expensive than Maria had figured on—and how she’d apparently believed that her customers would follow her to Promise Lodge—Rosetta was even more convinced that Miss Zehr was a much better baker than she was a businesswoman.

  What if Maria didn’t earn enough to pay her rent by the first of April, only a week away? What if the young men got tired of buying goodies because they felt sorry for her? It wouldn’t be easy or pleasant to ask Maria to leave Promise Lodge for being habitually delinquent with her rent—because her building was here now—but it wasn’t fair of Maria to expect folks to bail her out every couple of days, either. She needed to realize that baking less might be a good idea until business picked up.

  Help us figure it out, Lord, she prayed as she rose from the table to bring out Ruby’s rhubarb crisp. And help me not to be so quick to pass judgment when Maria doesn’t measure up.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Whoa, Clyde,” Monroe called out to his Clydesdale as he pulled the wagon up to the lodge that afternoon. It was a beautiful spring Saturday, and he was looking forward to spending time with Christine as she chose the sinks, faucets, and paint for their new home. The completion of the house made him eager to return to Illinois next week for the Clydesdales he bred and trained, along with his furnishings—but he was hoping to take Leola home to her parents on that same trip, and he hadn’t heard from Polly or Chester Duff lately. It was time to call them again.

  And the following week, on April fifth, Monroe was officiating at Truman and Rosetta’s wedding. Truman had agreed that he and a couple of his men would drive their large trucks to haul his horses and belongings, but he’d need to be patient if Wickey took time off to be with his new bride. He also had to line up a bishop to conduct his own wedding . . .

  Christine’s smile waylaid Monroe’s hectic thoughts. She was tying the strings of her black bonnet, gazing at him as though she was as eager as he was to get away from the lodge for a while. “I updated our shopping list with a few things Beulah wants from the grocery store,” she called out as she nimbly descended the porch stairs. “It’s a gut thing we’re taking a big wagon today!”

  Monroe stepped down to lift Christine up to the bench seat, delighting in the closeness of her body . . . craving a kiss—except someone in the lodge might be watching through the window. “I love you,” he whispered.

  Christine’s face lit up. “I love you, too, Monroe,” she said softly. “And I’m so excited about choosing the kitchen and bathroom fixtures—”

  “Wait for me! I’m coming, too!”

  Monroe closed his eyes at the sound of Leola’s voice. Christine stiffened as he boosted her up to the seat. He turned, reminding himself to remain patient. “Leola, we’ll be spending a lot of time at the mercantile getting plumbing and paint,” he said sternly. “There’s nothing there that will interest you. And we didn’t invite you to come along.”

  Leola bounded down the stairs with her coat and bonnet flapping under her arm. She stopped in front of him, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “But I gotta get more things to embroider! And more embroidery floss,” she announced happily.

  “Did you bring any money?” Christine called down from the bench.

  Leola’s expression wavered, and then brightened again. “No, but you can get me what I want and it’ll be for my birthday!” she exclaimed, gazing raptly at Monroe. She slipped her arms into her coat sleeves, fully expecting to go to town.

  Monroe’s thoughts were whirling. He didn’t want Leola tagging along—

  “When’s your birthday?” Christine asked. “I could pick you out some new iron-on patterns and floss, and we’ll wrap them up so they’ll be a surprise to go with your birthday cake.”

  Christine’s idea was excellent, and Monroe hoped it would convince Leola to stay—but he should’ve known better. Her face was turning red and she was breathing faster as she crammed her black bonnet over her head.

  “You know my birthday is April second, Monroe,” Leola blurted shrilly. “Tell Christine to stay home so you can take me! Just us two—because I love you.”

  Monroe glanced toward the Helmuth place, where Lester and the three preachers were installing windows. If he allowed this scene to escalate, Amos would be following the conversation—and so would everyone else at Promise Lodge, because Leola’s strident voice would attract their attention. He wanted to grasp the girl’s shoulders and steer her back inside, but if Leola latched on to him, she wouldn’t let go—and Amos would be watching that with great interest.

  “Leola, settle down,” he muttered. “I’m not taking you anywhere if you’re going to yell at me. Understand?”

  Leola burst into tears. She covered her mouth to keep from wailing, but she showed no sign of going inside.

  Monroe sighed. He’d planned to spend the afternoon shopping with Christine and then treating her to dinner at the café in Forest Grove, taking the long way home . . . but those private, tender moments were popping like soap bubbles.

  “I’m sorry, Monroe. I promise I’ll be quiet,” Leola whimpered.

  He turned to gaze apologetically at Christine, who wore a closed, resigned expression. When Monroe faced Leola again, he tried to think of a convincing idea that would keep her at the lodge—but once she intended to do something, Leola was like a dog who wouldn’t release a bone.

  “If I take you,” Monroe began, “you will not fuss at me or at Christine, and you will not hang on to me—”

  Leola’s eyes widened. “But I love—”

  “Stop!” Monroe interrupted sharply. “I’m telling you that you have to behave yourself or you’re not going. And I’m going to call your dat again after we return from town. You belong at home, and you need to be on your medications.”

  Leola bowed her head forlornly. “Don’t be mean to me, Monroe.”

  Monroe crossed his arms. “Are you going to obey my rules, Leola? Or are you staying here? Christine and I didn’t invite you to come along, and you’re being very rude, carrying on like a spoiled child.”

  He regretted his words as soon as he said them, because Leola would never mature beyond the point she’d reached—socially, she would remain about ten years old, and that wasn’t her fault. She was sniffling, clutching at her coat, trying very hard to understand why he’d reprimanded her—yet Monroe sensed that Leola knew exactly what she was doing whenever she wedged herself between him and Christine. For a moment, hope flared within him when she turned to look at the door of the lodge.

  Leola let out a quavering sigh. “All right. I’ll be quiet. I promise not to be a bother.”

  Monroe closed his eyes, praying again for patience. He wasn’t about to let Leola sit between him and Christine. “Let’s go around to the other side. You’ll have to sit close to Christine, because the bench isn’t very wide.”

  When Leola realized that she wouldn’t be riding next to him, she balked. “I’ll sit in the wagon.”

  Monroe’s eyebrows rose. Although young folks often rode in wagons, Leola didn’t realize what she’d be enduring. “You’ll get tired of the bumps. There’s a tarp you can sit on, but you’d be more comfortable on the bench—”

  “No. In the wagon.”

  Monroe walked to the end of the wagon, which had a wooden back behind the seat and slatted sides of the same height. When he helped Leola into it, she quickly settled against the back—which meant she’d be listening to every word he and Christine said. When he finally climbed into the seat and took the lines, he felt as if he’d already spent the entire afternoon dealing with Leola rather than enjoying Christine’s company.

  “I’m sorry,” he mouthed, clapping the leather lines lightly on Clyde’s back.

  Christine shrugged, appearing as disappointed as he felt.

  It was a quiet twenty-minute ride to Forest Grove. As he drove, Monroe considered ways to occupy Leola so she wouldn’t be tagging along l
ike a puppy, expressing her opinion of every faucet and sink and can of paint they looked at. He slipped his hand around Christine’s. “Where’s the best place to find the embroidery stuff she wants?” he murmured.

  “Nina’s Fabrics!” Leola replied excitedly.

  Christine nodded. “I have a plan,” she whispered.

  Monroe nodded, sensing he should leave Leola’s shopping to Christine . . . hoping her idea would give the two of them some time alone. When they arrived in Forest Grove, the main street was lined with angle-parked cars until they reached the mercantile’s big parking lot. Clyde knew to head for the long hitching rail on the side of the building, where a few other horses waited with buggies and wagons.

  “Leola, let’s you and I go to Nina’s,” Christine suggested as Monroe hitched his horse to the rail. “Monroe can start shopping for paint and toilets, because he won’t want to go into a girly fabric store with us.”

  Monroe smiled as he lifted Christine from the wagon. “Denki,” he mouthed. “I’ll make this up to you, sweetheart.”

  She winked at him. “We’ll find you in the mercantile,” she whispered. “And we’ll find somebody a chair, too.”

  As Monroe handed Leola down from the back of the wagon, she frowned. “But you’re supposed to be getting my birthday present, Monroe,” she protested.

  “And you’re supposed to be quiet and follow my rules, remember?” he countered. “Pick out what you want with Christine. I don’t want to hear that you gave her any trouble, either. Understand?”

  With a long sigh, Leola nodded. As she followed Christine across the parking lot, hanging her head, she resembled someone who’d just been put under the bann.

  Monroe entered the mercantile and found one of the large flatbed carts he’d need for his bulky purchases. Most men would choose all the fixtures and be done with it, but he wanted Christine to have a say about how their new home would look—even if she chose sinks and faucets that were a little fancier than most Plain women had.