Rosetta chuckled as she headed upstairs. Phoebe was an old hand at opening paint buckets, so perhaps she was flirting with Allen. Rosetta quickly slipped into her old paint-splotched dress and replaced her kapp with a brown kerchief and then joined Christine in the hallway.
“Do you suppose Allen and Phoebe are checking each other out?” Rosetta speculated. “They grew up together in Coldstream, after all, and he’s just a few years older than she is.”
“I suspect I’ll be the last to know,” Christine said, shaking her head. They descended the back stairs and grabbed their jackets in the mudroom. “My girls and I have always been close, but they’re of an age to keep their secrets when it comes to boys—not that Allen’s a boy anymore.”
“Jah, he probably looks a lot like Amos did at that age. Easy on the eyes—and an all-around nice guy, too,” Rosetta remarked as they started up the hill toward Monroe’s house. “We’re lucky he came back with his sisters. I’m guessing he had the attention of several young gals in Indiana.”
“We’ll probably never know. I suspect he’s another one who keeps his social life to himself.” Christine saw movement in the pasture and pointed. “Look! That’s Roman and Noah and the four Helmuth fellows constructing a board fence around the pasture.”
“That’s quite a job—and quite an expense, I’d think,” Rosetta remarked, shading her eyes with her hand. “Think of how pretty that fence will look when it’s painted white.”
“Monroe doesn’t do anything halfway. He told me that his Clydesdales have to have a substantial fence, because a wire one won’t hold them.” Christine gazed at the tall, white house ahead of them, sighing contentedly. “I have to say, this is the prettiest house I’ve ever lived in. Monroe has put everything together just right, and he wants me to have what makes me happy.”
As they approached the front door, Rosetta slipped her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “We’re blessed to have wonderful-gut men in our lives now,” she said softly. “I’ll miss being with you all the time, once we’re each married and I live up at the Wickey place. We don’t see nearly as much of Mattie now that she’s Mrs. Troyer.”
“Once we get settled in with our new husbands, I suspect the three of us will still work together in Mattie’s garden plots and cook big dinners together,” Christine said in a hopeful tone. “I’m really happy that Truman’s all right with you remaining the landlady of the lodge. Do you think you’ll still come to church with us?”
Rosetta opened the door and was immediately greeted by the smell of paint. “We still have to figure that out,” she replied. “I, of course, want to keep coming here for services, but I suspect Irene wants us to go to their Mennonite church in Cloverdale.”
“Oh, look at the pretty front room!” Christine’s face lit up as she gazed around the large, open area. “Monroe is partial to green, so we asked the girls to stir some of the blue paint into the yellow.”
“It’s refreshing, like mint and celery. And look at these beautiful floors,” Rosetta said as she stooped to run her hand over the glossy wood. “I like the wider planks. They look more modern than what’s in the lodge—and what we had back home.”
“The wider planks were Monroe’s idea, too. He really enjoyed planning the details—”
A loud whump above them, followed by a scream, made Rosetta and Christine race up the stairs. “Girls, are you all right?” Christine called out.
“What a mess! And on these brand new floors,” Phoebe exclaimed. “Quick! Get some more rags and towels.”
Rosetta raced along the upstairs hallway, peering into the rooms she passed until they reached the largest bedroom at the back of the house—probably the one Christine and Monroe would share. Fannie, Lily, and Laura were scurrying with their rollers to keep a large puddle of pale green paint from spreading on the floor while Phoebe was using a big foam brush to push paint into a metal paint tray.
“Gloria? I suggested that you should use a drop cloth, right? And that you shouldn’t fill your paint tray so full?” Allen asked tersely as he came out of the master bathroom. He held a squeegee and a wad of paper towels as he hurried toward the girls who were cleaning up the paint spill.
Gloria, who stood forlornly beside a ladder, burst into tears. “I—I was just trying to help—”
“You came here mostly to gawk at me,” Allen retorted as he squatted beside Phoebe. He deftly directed the paint toward her tray with the squeegee, a scowl darkening his handsome face. “If you don’t want to find a damp mop and a bucket of warm water, just go on home, all right? Matter of fact, we’ll finish up here. Bye, Gloria.”
“I know where there’s a bucket and mop,” Christine said. As she hurried from the room, Gloria sobbed louder.
“Why do you have to be so—so mean, Allen?” she demanded as she mopped her face with her sleeve. “I was only trying to—”
Allen stood to face her, clearly annoyed. “How many times do I have to say it?” he entreated in a loud whisper. “I don’t want to go out with you, Gloria. Don’t waste your time on me, all right? I hadn’t intended to embarrass you in front of your friends, but you went against their advice—and mine—about painting. So here we are.”
Rosetta sighed. Her heart went out to Gloria, who’d had her heart set on Allen since she’d met him, yet she understood Allen’s frustration. When Gloria ran out of the room, her crying echoed in the hallway and stairwell.
The front door slammed below them. Allen sighed and continued using the squeegee on the shrinking puddle of paint. “Sorry,” he murmured, glancing at the girls and Rosetta. “Every day Gloria finds a new way to pester me—and ignores me when I remind her I’m not interested. I should probably apologize to her—”
“But then she’ll think you want to kiss and make up,” Laura pointed out.
“If it makes you feel any better, she was acting just as silly when she was chasing after Roman,” Phoebe said. “It bothered her a lot when he married her younger sister.”
“Here we go—warm water and a sponge mop,” Christine said as she breezed back into the room. “The nice thing about latex paint is that it cleans up with water.”
“We’re sorry Gloria made such a mess on your beautiful new floors,” Fannie said with a sigh. “We really did tell her to use a drop cloth.”
“Looks like she dribbled paint on the baseboard, too,” Lily said. She dipped a clean rag into the water and squeezed it out. “I suspect she’s never painted before. One of us should’ve stayed in the room to coach her.”
“No use crying over spilled paint,” Christine quipped. She began mopping the green spot from the floor with vigorous strokes while Rosetta came behind her and wiped up the water with a clean towel. As she scrubbed, she was relieved to see all traces of the green paint disappearing from the glossy hardwood.
Allen wiped his squeegee with a rag and stepped out of the way. “Denki for your help, ladies. I’ll put the faucets on the sink and shower, and then I’ll finish the plumbing in the downstairs bathroom. I have to say, this house and the Helmuth place are the nicest ones I’ve ever worked in.”
Christine smiled at him as she rinsed her mop in the bucket. “We’ve been blessed with more than our share of gut carpenters—like your dat—and with Lester’s windows and siding, and now a certified plumber,” she said. “Promise Lodge has come together as a community in ways my sisters and I couldn’t have imagined.”
Allen smiled a little self-consciously and headed back into the bathroom.
“You girls are doing a really nice job, too,” Rosetta said. “By the time Christine and I paint the lower walls in the hallway, you’ll probably have all the bedrooms finished.”
Lily smiled, draping her arms around Fannie’s shoulders and Laura’s waist. “We’re a team,” she stated emphatically. “And Phoebe’s our leader. Let’s go, girls. There’s no stopping us now!”
As the four of them headed back to the room they’d been working on, Rosetta couldn’t help smiling. “We’re a t
eam,” she repeated softly. “Lily and Fannie might not be your girls’ sisters, but they’re close in all the right ways.”
Christine nodded. “They’re like a new generation of Benders,” she agreed. “The names are different, but the sisterhood lives on.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Monroe gazed out over the Sunday morning crowd in the lodge’s meeting room as he brought his sermon to a close. He felt blessed to see the four Helmuths and Allen on the men’s side, and he smiled at Barbara and Bernice, who sat among the women. The aromas of the pot roast and scalloped potatoes the Kuhns had put in the oven were wafting in from the kitchen, and he was ready to devour his share as he sat with Christine.
“I had the pleasure and privilege of visiting Harley this past week as he welcomed some new lambs,” Monroe said with a smile. “Most of them tottered around in the pen on their wobbly legs and got acquainted with their mothers, but one little fellow sprawled in the hay as though he didn’t have the energy to stand up—or even to survive. Sometimes we forget what a struggle it is to be born into this world.”
Clasping his hands before him, Monroe lowered his voice to make his final point. “As I witnessed the way Harley gently massaged that lamb, encouraging him to keep breathing,” he said earnestly, “I couldn’t help but think about how God cares for each of us from the time of our conception. He provides us parents and families, food and drink and shelter. He leads us in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake—just as the Twenty-Third Psalm tells us—and He restores our souls. I got goose bumps when Harley finally helped that little lamb to its feet, and I almost cried when it let out a bleat and went to its mother to suckle.”
Monroe paused, basking in the glow of the faces around him. “We are blessed when our Lord lifts us up, as Harley assisted his lamb—and we should give thanks when God guides us in the way He wants us to go . . . sort of like Queenie herds the sheep into Harley’s barn when she feels a storm coming on.”
Folks chuckled. At one time or another, Queenie had herded them and their livestock, too.
“Go in peace this week, my friends,” Monroe intoned. “Abide in His many blessings and share them with others.”
As they sang a final hymn, Monroe joined in with gusto. Now that Amos’s four married kids, along with Cyrus, Jonathan, and Allen, had come to Promise Lodge, the music rang more loudly. He pronounced the benediction and then smiled at all who’d gathered, his heart full to overflowing with the way they had accepted him as their bishop.
“We look forward with great joy to Wednesday, April fifth, when Rosetta and Truman will unite in holy matrimony,” Monroe announced, smiling at the bride- and groom-to-be. “Amos, Marlin, and Eli have discussed the matter of interfaith marriages with me, and we have agreed that under the circumstances—because Rosetta and Truman are solid in the faiths into which they were baptized long ago—we will allow our Amish sister to take a Mennonite husband.”
“And you can marry me, Monroe!” Leola gushed as she popped up from her seat on the women’s side. “Today’s my birthday, and I’m wearing my blue wedding dress! We’re all set!”
Monroe sighed inwardly, reminding himself to remain calm. “Leola, we’ve discussed this time and again—”
“But you have to marry me, Monroe!” she cried, rushing toward the center of the room where he stood. “You ruined me! And I love you for it!”
He held out his arms to catch Leola by her shoulders, but she dodged them, launching herself at his midsection so forcefully that they both teetered. Monroe tried to peel away the slender arms that were wrapped around his waist, but Leola was stronger than she appeared. “Leola,” he implored. “You have to let me go. This is not the time or the place—”
“This is indeed the time and the place,” Preacher Amos insisted as he rose from the preachers’ bench to stand alongside Monroe. His face was contorted with a scowl. “I insist that you explain your relationship with this young woman right here, right now, so all of us can understand it.”
“I love Monroe and he loves me!” Leola blurted ecstatically. “And we’re gonna get married!”
Monroe’s stomach rolled as he again tried to free himself from Leola’s incriminating embrace. He could feel the curious stares coming from the men’s side and from the two preachers behind him. Preacher Amos planted his fists on his hips, awaiting Monroe’s answer. In his black trousers and vest, with his silver-shot beard framing his swarthy face, Amos resembled an Old Testament judge . . . or an executioner.
“Leola, be quiet,” Phoebe pleaded as she stood up. “You’re confused, sweetie.”
“Come sit down,” Christine cajoled as she, too, rose and opened her arms. “You need to be here with us so Monroe can speak to Preacher Amos.”
Gratitude welled up in Monroe’s heart, even though the pleas of his fiancée and her daughter weren’t convincing Leola to sit down.
“This is not what you think, Amos,” Rosetta said as she started toward Leola. “We women who live in the lodge have witnessed plenty of evidence that—”
“You women have always favored Monroe,” Preacher Amos retorted. “Since the moment he showed up unannounced in that Christmas Eve snowstorm, you’ve fawned over him and given him the benefit of every doubt.” Amos turned to gaze at the crowd. “Nobody’s leaving until the bishop speaks for himself and gives us the answers I’m demanding—answers any upstanding church leader should’ve provided months ago.”
Monroe’s throat got so dry he couldn’t swallow. Again he tried to loosen Leola’s arms, yet when Rosetta came up behind her to grasp her shoulders, Leola only whimpered and buried her face in his vest. He knew how improper this appeared—especially to Amos and the other men—but he also knew they’d have a major meltdown on their hands if he pushed Leola away from him.
“Have you no shame?” Preacher Amos demanded, his scowl deepening. “Why do you think we’ll let our bishop get by with behavior that disgusts our Lord? Leola’s half your age! God does not condone what you’ve been trying to hide, Burkholder.”
“I have nothing to hide,” Monroe protested, but Amos was already warmed up to deliver a scathing sermon.
“If you can’t make me believe your relationship with Leola is normal and honorable—if you can’t get down on your knees right now and confess to us all,” the preacher said in a rising voice, “we’ll not only put you under the bann, but you’ll also be leaving Promise Lodge. We’ll buy back your home and property so you can return to Illinois before you establish your Clydesdale business here.”
Mattie stood up quickly, appearing frightened and appalled. “Amos, listen to yourself! You’re taking this way too far,” she protested. “You’ve had since Christmas to ask Monroe about his background and his—”
“You’re out of line, Mattie. Sit down,” Amos snapped.
A gasp went up from the women’s side, but it didn’t make Monroe feel any better. Leola’s arms seemed to be squeezing the breath from him . . . stifling his future. The room was whirling slowly around him, and he had dark visions of being forced to leave Promise Lodge and Christine behind—all because Amos perceived illicit behavior and motives where there were none.
“Amos, the ladies are right,” Monroe pleaded hoarsely. “As a rule, I refuse to discuss Leola’s limitations when she’s present, because it’s extremely rude—and surely you can understand how it would upset her. Please believe that the Kuhns and Rosetta and her sisters have all seen how Leola struggles to keep her emotions in check—how childlike she is—”
“Don’t you talk to my Monroe that way!” Leola cried out, glaring at Amos. She sniffled loudly and swiped at her eyes. “He loves me! And he takes gut care of me—”
“—but if everyone believes I should confess,” Monroe continued doggedly, “then of course I will—even though the conclusions you’re jumping to about my relationship with Leola are totally unfounded and—”
“Leola Mae! Come to your paw-paw, punkin!” a man said loudly from the back of the roo
m.
Thank you, Lord! Monroe prayed when Leola turned toward the familiar voice. Chester Duff opened his arms, entreating his daughter. He appeared pale and slightly stooped, his deeply lined face revealing how his wife’s extended illness had aged him these past couple of months.
“Paw-Paw!” Leola’s face lit up with joy as she rushed to him. “Where’s Mama? Did you bring her to see me and Monroe get married?”
As Monroe took a deep breath, the folks around him turned to see who’d spoken. Chester was hugging his ecstatic daughter, gazing over her shoulder at Monroe with an apology in his eyes. When Leola had settled down, Chester grasped her arms firmly and eased her away so he could look into her eyes.
“Your mama’s resting at home, Leola,” he said gently. “She’s been very, very sick—we almost lost her. But she’ll feel a whole lot better once you come home with me.”
Leola’s expression wavered. “But—but I’m gonna marry—”
“No, you’re not,” Chester said firmly. He steered her to the end of a pew bench on the women’s side, where Christine’s daughters scooted over to make room for her. “You’re gonna sit right here, Leola,” he insisted, pressing down on her shoulders until she sat. “I want you to stay still and be quiet, understand me? From what I overheard just now, you’ve gotten Bishop Monroe in a whole lot of trouble.”
Leola sighed, fighting tears. “But I love Monroe! He ruined me so I’ll never love anyone else!”
“That’s enough of that foolish talk!” Chester said, pointing his finger at her. “It’s time for you to be quiet while I try to explain what you’ve been saying and doing.” He looked at Monroe. “Do you mind if I stand there with you, Bishop, so I can talk to these folks face-to-face?”
Once again Monroe thanked God for Chester’s timely appearance, hoping he could put Preacher Amos’s accusations to rest. “Of course you may,” he replied as he looked out over the crowd. “Folks, this is Chester Duff, from Macomb, Illinois. As you might know, his wife Edna was rushed to the hospital in Chicago way back in January, and she’s been struggling to regain her health so she could return home.”
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