Another quick look around the crowded room convinced Mattie that Amos wasn’t seated yet—and that was just as well. As soon as these guests finished eating, the serving crew would clear the dirty dishes and set up for a second, smaller shift for the kitchen helpers and the remaining guests and family members who’d waited patiently to enjoy their dinner.
Mattie felt calmer as she made her way to the eck table. The bride and groom sat in the center, and behind them rose a white cake decorated in pale blue, displayed on the glass cake plate Mattie had used when she’d married Marvin Schwartz—an idea Beulah and Ruby had suggested after they’d baked and decorated the cake together.
“It’s gut to see all you kids enjoying this wonderful day,” Mattie murmured as she reached for Noah and Deborah’s hands. “And I wish you two a lifetime of God’s blessings as you begin your life together.”
Deborah grabbed Mattie’s hand between both of hers and squeezed it. “We can’t thank you and Amos enough for our plot of land, and for building us a beautiful home,” she replied earnestly. She leaned farther over the table, lowering her voice. “And I hope you and your sisters and Amos can work out a solution—a sensible peace—about running your businesses and marrying in God’s gut time rather than in Bishop Floyd’s.”
A sensible peace . . . in God’s gut time rather than Bishop Floyd’s. Was that too much to hope for? Too much to ask of God, the father of them all?
“Denki, Deborah. That’s a lovely idea,” Mattie murmured. She felt blessed indeed, witnessing the mature, sincere faith reflected in all the young faces at this table. “Our mission as God’s Plain people is always to attain the peace He desires for us—in our relationship with Him, and amongst ourselves, as well.”
“We’ll put in a gut word for Truman when we pray about this situation,” Phoebe said as she patted the empty spot beside her at the end of the table. “He apologized for not sitting up here with us, and for getting riled up about the wedding sermon. I hope he’ll spend some time with Rosetta today—”
“Jah, I was honored that he served as my side-sitter,” Noah chimed in. “He’s a bit older, as newehockers go—and he has a lot to think about now that our bishop’s spoken out against intermarriage again.”
“I hope Truman won’t think we no longer value his friendship—or that we don’t appreciate all the ways he’s helped with digging foundations, pouring concrete for our roads, and helping us restore the orchard,” Roman said as he picked up his fork. The food on the plate the servers had brought him a while ago had gone cold, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Fact is, we’d still be struggling to build Noah’s house, not to mention the others that have gone up so fast, had Truman not brought his crew and equipment over to help us.”
“He’s the best sort of neighbor and a fine friend,” Mattie agreed. “I’ll pass along your words of thanks when I see him. He needs to know that Floyd doesn’t speak for the rest of us.”
And that’s a sad thing—a dangerous thing—to say about the bishop of our new colony, Mattie realized as she made her way toward the door. Her spirits lifted as she passed the tables where friends from Coldstream voiced their congratulations about the wedding and the way Promise Lodge had come together so quickly and beautifully. A few of those folks appeared ready to quiz her about Bishop Floyd’s marriage ultimatum, so Mattie kept moving between the tables, determined to find Amos. If her former neighbors asked about their bishop, who claimed God had led him from Ohio to their new Missouri colony to be their leader, what could she say? Only the Lord knew Floyd Lehman’s true motives. It wasn’t her place to question the bishop’s sincerity—or God’s plan.
When Mattie stepped out of the dining room’s back door, leaving the laughter and loud chatter behind her, she savored the serenity of the sun-dappled shade. The huge old maple trees were dropping their leaves, so the grassy yard resembled a green quilt with a freestyle design in brilliant shades of red, gold, and orange. The breeze held a hint of winter, reminding Mattie that she’d soon be wearing her coat every time she stepped outside.
The row of brown cabins, which had served as temporary homes for incoming residents, would be closed up in a few weeks because they didn’t have any heat. Amos, Noah, and Deborah had devoted a lot of time to refurbishing those cottages over the summer. Preacher Marlin Kurtz and his kids, Fannie and Lowell, fourteen and twelve, were now living in the largest cabin while Marlin’s son and daughter-in-law, Harley and Minerva, were staying in another one—all of them awaiting the completion of a roomy new home on the double lot atop the nearest hill.
Mattie was pleased that the Kurtz family had joined them, because Preacher Marlin, a widower in his fifties, delivered salt-of-the-earth, thought-provoking sermons as only a man acquainted with the highs and lows of life could do. Marlin had asked the construction crew to finish his shop first—he built all sorts of wooden rain barrels, barrel furniture, and buckets that he sold through regional stores and a mail-order catalog. His daughter-in-law, Minerva, was a midwife—a welcome addition to any Plain settlement—and Harley’s herd of sheep already grazed the grassy hills he’d fenced off last month.
When Mattie glanced toward the pastures, she saw Queenie lying at the top of a hill, keeping watch over the flock as though the sheep were her special responsibility. Mattie was about to head across the lawn to see if Amos had gone home when male voices made her stop to listen.
“. . . you’ve pretty much guaranteed that Mattie won’t marry me now, provoking her with your sermon ultimatum.”
“I spoke the words God gave me. Family is everything in our faith—as you well know, Amos,” came Bishop Floyd’s reply. “It’s time for you to provide Mattie a home and a more fitting full-time occupation.”
Mattie frowned, her irritation rising again as the conversation drifted from the screen door of the cabin Marlin Kurtz was staying in.
“Floyd, I must ask you to remember that Christine kept her husband’s dairy herd because she needs an income—just as Mattie began her produce stand and Rosetta opened apartments for single women because they have no men in their family to support them,” Amos continued. His voice was calm but insistent. “It would be a shame to shut down the produce stand now that local folks are so eagerly supporting it—and it provides jobs for some of our other residents, too. I doubt you’d be agreeable if someone suddenly ordered you to quit running your siding business—”
“But that won’t happen,” Floyd interrupted testily. “If you can speak so eloquently in support of Mattie’s business, why can’t you persuade her to marry you?”
Mattie’s jaw dropped. The bishop’s impertinence bordered on disrespect, especially because Amos had maintained a low-key response to the ultimatums they’d heard during Floyd’s wedding sermon.
“While marriage is the traditional vision for Old Order adults,” another fellow joined in after a few moments of silence, “I can’t believe you’re suggesting that Christine and Marlin should get hitched—since there’s nobody else for them to choose from. They hardly know each other.”
“That’s how I see it,” a fourth fellow chimed in emphatically. “I’m sure Christine’s a fine, upstanding woman who’ll make some fellow a gut wife, but I have a business to get re-established and a house to finish before winter. And frankly, I’m still in mourning for my Essie. I doubt my heart will welcome another wife anytime soon.”
Mattie’s eyebrows rose. She recognized the voices of Preacher Eli Peterscheim and Preacher Marlin, which meant that either the bishop had called the three ministers together or they had cornered him to challenge his sermon. It was improper to eavesdrop on their meeting . . . but anyone coming out of the lodge could’ve heard them talking.
“And the way I see it,” a fifth man added testily, “Rosetta and I could probably be husband and wife before the snow flies—but you’ve forbidden a Mennonite to marry her! And you insinuated that I’d be putting her on the path to perdition if I did. I resent that, Floyd. I’m every bit as sincere in my love
for Christ—the Savior of us all—as you are. God sent his Son to save the world, not to condemn it.”
Truman Wickey, you said that just right, Mattie thought as she walked a little closer to the cabin where the men were meeting. Although she’d been instructed all her life that the Old Order Amish faith was the one true church—the sole path to God’s salvation—she was having a harder time believing that as she got older. She’d met plenty of Christians of other persuasions who believed God’s grace and mercy were intended for them—and for all of His children. Why would He create so many followers, so many souls who called Him their God, only to condemn them to hell if they weren’t Amish?
“And we know of other colonies hereabouts that permit Amish and Mennonites—or German River Brethren—to marry each other without any shunning or separation from the Amish congregation,” Eli pointed out. “Here in Missouri—”
“Well, I come from an Ohio district that has remained true to the Ordnung and the old ways,” Bishop Floyd interrupted loudly. “I believe that if Amish congregations start allowing small changes in the faith—like permitting intermarriage, or allowing women to own businesses—before you know it our people will be driving cars and using cell phones. Just like English.”
Amos cleared his throat. “There are cell phones without Internet connections made especially for Plain people,” he pointed out. “You see them advertised in The Budget all the time.”
“Seeing something in print doesn’t make it appropriate!” Floyd countered.
Mattie stopped at the corner of the cottage where the men were talking, noting the rise in the pitch and volume of their voices. She stood where the curtain panel would hide her, and when she glanced through the window she could see the five fellows in the main room. The three preachers and Truman were seated in chairs or on the edge of the bed while Bishop Floyd remained standing . . . as though using his stature to place himself above the others and refute everything they said. It made for a very uneven conversation, from her viewpoint—
Not that Bishop Floyd cares about your viewpoint.
Mattie blinked. The thought had come to her unbidden, yet unerring. It was wrong for her to judge the bishop, but her sudden flash of insight resonated with an uncomfortable truth. No matter what any of the other men said, Floyd Lehman would remain rooted in his own convictions, his mind closed to their ideas. And if he paid no attention to what the three preachers suggested, he certainly wouldn’t listen to the women’s opinions.
When she focused on Amos, who sat facing the window, Mattie admired him for speaking his mind—and for standing up for her and her produce stand. He looked robust and handsome dressed in his wedding best, with his hair and beard neatly clipped to follow the shape of his weathered face. Apparently the men in Floyd’s previous district preferred the U-shaped style of beard that was allowed to grow as it would, untrimmed—messy, in Mattie’s opinion. It shouldn’t matter how their bishop looked, yet Floyd’s unkempt, unruly appearance made it harder for her to accept his criticism.
But Mattie forgot all about beards and grooming when she realized Amos had spotted her. His face remained placid as Floyd pontificated further on the merits of the one true Old Order faith, but Amos stood up, waiting for a break in the conversation.
“No offense, Bishop, but I sense you’ll remain unconvinced of anything we’re going to say,” Amos remarked quietly. “Rather than wasting any more of this special day, I’m going to eat some of the fine meal the ladies have prepared and visit with friends who’ve traveled here to celebrate with us.”
As Amos headed for the front door, Mattie’s heart sped up. Would Floyd see her through the window and realize she’d been spying? Perhaps she should slip back to the lodge and wait for Amos there, so Floyd wouldn’t—
What do you have to hide? Any of our guests might’ve walked over this way to look at our cabins, and they would’ve overheard the men’s conversation.
Smiling resolutely, Mattie held out her hands to Amos when he stepped outside. “I was beginning to think my dinner date had ducked out on me,” she teased. She turned to smile at the men who were following him out. “Truman, Eli—the first-shift folks are coming out of the lodge, which means the tables are being reset for the rest of us. I know a couple of ladies who’ve been cooking and serving all day, who’d be grateful to sit down and eat with you. Marlin, we’d be pleased if you’d join us,” she added as their newest preacher stepped outside.
Amos tucked her hand under his elbow and started toward the lodge with her. “Gut timing, Mattie,” he murmured near her ear. “Had you not given me a reason to leave, we might’ve been stuck in there with Floyd all afternoon. And we wouldn’t have accomplished a thing, unfortunately.”
“Jah, I’m ready for some pleasant company,” Truman remarked softly as he fell into step with them. “We might as well have been talking to the wall—and I’m sorry to say that about your bishop, understand.”
“Oh, we understand,” Mattie replied with a sigh. “We started our Promise Lodge colony hoping to allow for a more progressive, positive lifestyle that would still embrace our bedrock faith. The bishop God brought us has different ideas, however.”
As they met up with folks coming out of the lodge, Mattie and Amos stopped to talk with them, which allowed the serving ladies time to reset the tables for the second dinner shift. She felt a little odd not helping them, but she also felt good standing beside Amos, who’d kept her hand tucked in his elbow for all the world to see.
When did Marvin ever touch you in public? Or stand up for things that mattered to you?
Mattie blinked. Most Amish men didn’t display affection in public, even when they dearly loved their wives, so it pleased her that Amos wasn’t afraid to show his feelings—and that he wasn’t keeping her hand in the crook of his elbow to establish his control over her. And he certainly wasn’t cozying up to her to win Floyd’s favor.
Amos enjoys being with you. He respects you and your opinions. He’s an even-tempered fellow who lives his faith every day and doesn’t consider men’s matters more important than women’s.
When they’d finished talking to some of the Peterscheims’ cousins, Amos smiled down at her with his warm brown eyes. “Let’s head on in to eat, shall we?” he murmured. “I hope it’s all right that I let Marlin and Truman go in ahead of us, hoping to have you to myself for a little while.”
Mattie’s heart fluttered. She couldn’t seem to stop gazing up at him. “That sounds lovely, Amos,” she murmured. “Denki for thinking to do that.”
Amos’s smile brought his dimples out to play. “It’s a rare day when you’re not bustling around cooking and serving. I’m glad you’ve taken some time off, and that you’re spending it with me.”
Amos has been crazy about you since you were kids—how much more of your life will pass by before you allow him to make you happy? Why spend any longer living in the lodge with the other unattached women when Amos wants you to share his home, his life?
Mattie’s thoughts were spinning rapidly. Her resistance to Amos’s proposal suddenly seemed silly and irrelevant. “What if I want to spend more than just today with you?” she blurted. Her heart was pounding so hard she wasn’t sure she’d get any more words out. “I—I want to accept your offer. I want to be your wife.”
The sudden joy on Amos’s face stunned her. He glanced around, slipped his arm around her waist, and quickly walked her behind the lodge. “Really?” he whispered as he pulled her close. “You’re not saying this because of what Floyd preached—”
“Puh! He’ll probably take credit for it,” Mattie said with a short laugh, “but no bishop is going to tell me—or you—who or when to marry, Amos.”
“Jah, you’ve got that right. Oh, Mattie!” Ever so gently, Amos took her face between his large, sturdy hands and kissed her. It was a feathery brushing of lips, mere seconds of contact, yet it awakened feelings she’d not known since she’d been an innocent young woman.
“I was seventeen the
first time you kissed me, and so crazy head-over-heels for you,” she recalled in a dreamlike voice.
“I remember that day like it was yesterday,” Amos murmured. “We were kids taking the long way home after a Singing when I finally worked up the nerve to kiss you. But we knew our hearts. We would’ve made it work.”
“I believe that, too,” Mattie whispered.
“I’ve always loved you, Mattie. I buried those feelings when your dat wanted you to marry Marvin and I hitched up with Anna,” Amos recalled softly, “but that doesn’t mean my heart forgot you. And now, at long last, you’re making my dreams come true.”
Mattie felt tears trickling down her cheeks as she buried her face against his sturdy chest. She felt the rumble of his chuckle as he wrapped his arms around her. For several moments she savored Amos’s warm strength as they stood in blissful silence. The beating of his heart calmed her, set her life into rhythm again like the steady, dependable ticking of the clock he’d given her as an engagement gift . . . the clock she’d stored away during her marriage and had taken out again after Marvin’s passing.
“I love you, too, Amos. Denki for your patience, your understanding—”
His kiss was more fervent this time, sweet and tender. Then he eased away to look at her. “I suppose we’d better behave ourselves, considering how many folks could catch us spooning out here. But I’ll take up where we left off, next time we’re alone together.” He gently thumbed away the wet streaks on her cheeks. “Take a minute to pull yourself together, dear.”
Mattie chuckled, dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her apron. “I’m out of practice at feeling so happy—but I think I can get used to it.”
“I’ll be sure you do,” he murmured. “I intend to make up for a lot of lost time and make you glad you married me. Every single day. Ready to go in?”
Mattie nodded, straightening her kapp and smoothing her apron. “Ready—for whatever comes along.”
Chapter Four
Christmas at Promise Lodge Page 4