Mattie sighed and looked out the window of her apartment. The wind whistled, driving thick, fat snowflakes, and the sky looked as dark and dreary as her heart felt. How senseless it seemed, that Amos would now remain alone in his new home and she would continue living in these rooms at the lodge—neither of them happy. What a waste of two lives.
The steady ticking of the clock on her dresser brought on a fresh round of tears. Amos had given her the clock as an engagement present when they’d been young people madly in love. He’d probably done without groceries for a while after he’d bought it, yet he’d never let on that it was a hardship. Then, when her dat had steered her toward Marvin Schwartz as a more up-and-coming husband, Mattie had carefully wrapped the clock and stored it beneath the linens in her cedar chest. She hadn’t been able to part with the clock—and secretly, she hadn’t given up hope that God’s will and circumstances might bring her and Amos together again someday.
And their lives had worked out that way, just as she’d hoped. But this morning it hadn’t been a well-meaning father coming between them. It was Amos himself.
Mattie opened the case of the wooden clock and stopped its pendulum. She couldn’t bear to hear it ticking away the moments of her life, like a heart that had lost its reason for living yet went on beating.
She decided to allow herself this evening to mourn her loss—“to everything there is a season . . . a time to weep and a time to laugh.”
Mattie took her flannel nightgown from the drawer. It wasn’t even time for supper, yet she was done with this day. No doubt her sisters and the Kuhns would be looking for her when they realized she wasn’t in the kitchen helping them cook, but she didn’t have the least inclination toward eating—or toward going into detail about why she needed to be alone for a while. They were women. They would understand.
She had just let the nightgown drop down over her arms and body when she sensed someone else’s presence. Mattie turned, reminding herself not to lash out at her visitor the way Amos had done to her. “Ah. Rosetta. I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t hear you at the door.”
Rosetta cocked her head, assessing Mattie for a moment. “What’s this? You’re not feeling well? Coming down with a cold in this change of the weather?”
Mattie sighed. No sense in gilding the lily. “Amos called off the wedding. Forever.”
“He—oh, Mattie, that’s his depression talking, not Amos!”
“I tried to tell him that,” she explained as she picked up her dress and underthings, “but he insisted I’m not to be his caretaker—not to marry a man who’ll never be strong again.”
Rosetta’s hand fluttered to her mouth and her face clouded over. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “When Truman said Amos was in a bad way, I never dreamed he’d sunk so low emotionally.”
“Me neither. So I’ve not got any appetite for dinner or company right now.” Mattie shrugged, blinking back tears. “I’ll start again tomorrow and figure out where to go from there. Gut night, Rosetta.”
Bless her heart, her youngest sister understood Mattie’s need to sort things out alone. Mattie watched Rosetta leave and then turned to look out the window again. The snow was still blowing with a vengeance and the ground below was turning white. It was just as well that the days were short and the nights longer at this time of the year. The thought of sleeping in suited her mood perfectly.
Mattie let down her hair and brushed it, trying not to imagine how Amos might’ve reacted to this simple ritual after they’d married, for he’d never seen her with her hair down. Mattie doused the lamp and sat in her rocking chair with an afghan wrapped around her, knowing sleep wouldn’t come anytime soon. Back and forth she rocked, slowly, wondering if this would be the way she spent the rest of her years . . . alone in her room . . .
After a little while Mattie heard whispering in the hallway. Behind her, the door creaked and someone entered her room, but she didn’t bother to turn around. The soft glow of a lamp made the furniture cast shadows on the wall.
“Nobody felt like cooking supper, Mattie,” Christine said.
“And since it’s just us girls in the lodge tonight,” Ruby chimed in, “we thought a hen party might be fun. How about joining us?”
Mattie smelled something tantalizing. She turned in her chair, ready to insist that she was in no mood for a party. “Oh!” she blurted. “You’re all ready for bed, and it’s not even six o’clock.”
“Jah, it’s the sort of night to just get comfy and cozy,” Beulah said. She was holding a small plate with a ball of goat cheese on it, smiling at Mattie. Her silvery hair cascaded over one shoulder and pooled in her lap as she sat on the edge of the bed in her flannel nightgown.
“And what better time to eat goodies instead of healthy stuff like veggies?” Rosetta asked with a giggle. She set a warm crockery bowl in Mattie’s lap. “I can’t recall the last time I made chocolate gravy, so I thought I’d refresh our memories about how delicious it is!”
“And we can spoon that chocolate gravy over these pumpkin muffins,” Laura suggested as she sat cross-legged on the rug. “I made them for tomorrow’s breakfast, but why wait until then when they’re warm now?”
“Or we could dip stuff in that chocolate gravy,” Phoebe said as she passed a plate of apple slices and cheese chunks under Mattie’s nose.
“And we’ve got a plate of Deborah’s cookies, too,” Christine said as she pulled an armchair beside Mattie’s rocker. “But mainly, we have each other, Sister. We couldn’t just leave you all by your lonesome after Rosetta told us what Amos said. We’re all in this together, Mattie.”
Mattie blinked rapidly. “I’m not very gut company tonight, so—”
“Phooey on that! We all love you no matter what, Aunt Mattie,” Laura insisted. “And besides, this is a lot more fun than dirtying up dishes and pans and having to clean up the kitchen after we eat. We brought paper plates—”
“And Happy Birthday napkins,” Rosetta said as she took a plate and a napkin and passed the stacks around. “Because no matter what Amos did, you’ll be having a birthday on Saturday. We all want to celebrate the day you were born, because if you hadn’t been—why, we wouldn’t be at Promise Lodge!”
“I can’t imagine my life without you, Mattie,” Christine added. “You’ve always been the starter-upper, the sister with the best ideas.”
“When Beulah and I first arrived and saw how much garden you’d already planted and heard your plans for this place, we knew this was where we belonged, too,” Ruby insisted with a nod. “So don’t go thinking your ideas and your efforts don’t matter, Mattie, just because Amos is feeling down on himself.”
“We also figured we could set up a schedule so the rest of us gals can take turns looking in on Amos—or not, if he gets cranky with us,” Beulah suggested. “If he wants to stew in his own juice, maybe that’s the best way to handle him. I suspect Amos has gotten so accustomed to all you’ve done for him, Mattie, that he has no idea how fast his house and clothes will get smelly without somebody looking after him.”
Mattie didn’t know what to think. Her sisters, her nieces, and the two Kuhns were all clad in their flannelette nighties with their hair down, passing around the food they’d brought—for a pajama party like she’d had with her sisters and the neighbor girls when they were young. She still didn’t think she was hungry, but she split a warm pumpkin muffin on her paper plate and spooned a generous amount of chocolate gravy over it. “It would be very thoughtful of you to look in on Amos,” she murmured. “He’s quite capable of doing laundry and keeping his house picked up—but that was before he was in a wheelchair. I don’t know what’s come over him. He seems to have lost all faith in ever recuperating.”
“He’s depressed and disappointed,” Rosetta said as she took a gingerbread cookie from the plate. “He was expecting the doctor to know what’s wrong with his legs—like any of us would. Truman told me he and Eli offered to build a ramp up to Amos’s porch so he could come and
go on his own once he’s allowed outside, but Amos wanted no part of that, either.”
“Amos is used to being up and around, busy at building things,” Christine put in. She took a few slices of apple and cheese and passed the plate to Mattie. “He doesn’t like to feel useless, and if he peeked out from behind his curtains, I imagine it really bothered him to watch the other fellows putting the roof on Roman’s house without his help.”
Mattie nodded. “You’re all right,” she murmured. Then she paused to savor the rich sweetness of the muffin drenched in warm chocolate gravy. “Dr. Townsend authorized some physical therapy sessions—but not until Amos’s concussion improves. I think that’s part of his problem, too. Amos isn’t used to sitting. Or waiting.”
“I’ve always considered Amos a very patient man,” Beulah mused aloud, “but then, his life was going just fine until he fell off the roof.”
For a few moments, the women stopped talking as they enjoyed their food. Mattie watched them close their eyes and sigh with contentment, realizing how grateful she was to be surrounded by so much compassion, so much love. It wasn’t the same happiness she’d feel if she were getting married on Saturday, but it was a gratifying peacefulness that came from knowing these women would do everything in their power to make her feel loved and appreciated.
“I hear Frances might be in need of some cheering up—and assistance—as well,” Christine said. She plucked a couple of apple slices from Laura’s plate and dragged them through the chocolate gravy on her plate. “It sounds as if Floyd is still in much worse shape than Amos, even though he’s getting therapy at home. Gloria has told me he stumbles a lot, even with a cane, because his left leg is so unpredictable,” she said with a shake of her head. “He can’t always keep his food in his mouth while he’s chewing, and they have to be careful that he doesn’t choke because the stroke affected his ability to swallow.”
“We have to wonder if Floyd would be farther along the road to recovery had he stayed in a dark room like he was supposed to,” Mattie murmured.
“Or if he’d have stayed in the hospital that first time instead of being in such a hurry to get home. He hasn’t been himself since Amos fell on him.” Rosetta took a bite and moaned softly. “Now this is heavenly—goat cheese spread on a pumpkin muffin with chocolate gravy spread on it!”
“Oh, I’m going to try that!” Phoebe said. She smiled at everyone around their cozy circle. “You know, we really should do this pajama party thing more often. What with winter nearly here, who will care that we’re not dressed in the evenings? It gets dark by five o’clock.”
“What if we started a crochet club to pass these longer evenings?” Ruby suggested. “Our Mennonite fellowship is big on making blankets and stocking caps and such for homeless folks.”
“We could call it the PPCC—the Pajama Party Crochet Club!” Laura said with a chuckle. “I like it! I have a big bag of yarn stashed in my closet, too.”
“We left our yarn for our nieces in Versailles,” Beulah said, “but I noticed the mercantile in Forest Grove has quite a nice display of yarn and fabrics and such. Maybe we need to make a trip into town when the roads are clear.”
“I want to make an afghan for Preacher Amos,” Laura declared. “Maybe if he wrapped himself up in a snugly blanket, he’d be in a better mood.”
“And I want to make one for Bishop Floyd,” Phoebe said without missing a beat. “And what about Mary Kate? And her baby? They’ll be needing little blankets and booties and caps—”
“Now you’re talking!” Rosetta said. “We can plan some happiness for all of these folks. And it’ll make the long winter evenings a lot more fun.”
Mattie found herself smiling, feeling purposeful again. “You ladies are gut medicine,” she said as she gazed at each of them. “You’ve helped me remember that so many folks have a lot more reasons to feel blue than I do—and you’ve given me something to look forward to. A crochet club wouldn’t have interested me if I were getting married on Saturday.”
Christine chuckled. “It’s just my guess, but I predict you and Amos will get together again. Once he gets past this rough spot in the road—once we find a way to get him motivated, doing something he can handle while he’s in his wheelchair—I suspect he’ll realize he made a big mistake, calling off the wedding. He’s loved you nearly all his life, Mattie. And he hasn’t really stopped loving you. He’s just gotten sidetracked.”
“Jah, I think our patience and prayers—and an afghan and some warm food now and again—will go a long way toward helping Amos recover,” Ruby said. “Once the doctor says he can come out of the dark, I’m thinking the Amos we know and love will figure out a way to get up and get moving again—or he’ll figure out what to do with himself if he can’t build houses anymore.”
Mattie smiled, feeling much better as she and her sisters and friends chatted while they ate. “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”
Jesus’s words rang true. These women of faith had put together a party to lift her spirits, and Mattie felt the Lord was very much among them as they talked of ways to help Amos and the bishop and Mary Kate. She could move forward now, secure in her life no matter what Amos had decided about marrying her. After all, she’d gotten the idea to move to Promise Lodge when she’d been a woman alone.
Chapter Seventeen
After he finished the milking early on Sunday morning, Roman headed down the snow-packed road, back to Amos’s place. The rising sun made tiny diamonds sparkle on the five inches of snow that had fallen in the night, adding a layer of crisp freshness to the lawns and hillsides of Promise Lodge. As Roman passed his new house, he sighed. Lester had installed his windows and siding, the other men had put in his kitchen appliances, and the girls had painted all of his rooms, so the place was finished enough to live in. Roman really wanted to settle into his house, but he also understood that Amos needed help—assistance he was either too proud or too depressed to ask for—so he planned to stay in the preacher’s spare bedroom until Amos’s health improved.
“Gut morning, Amos! You up yet?” Roman called out as he entered the front room. In the kitchen, he filled the percolator with water and coffee and put it on the stove. When Roman paused in the doorway of the dark bedroom, he saw that the preacher had maneuvered himself out of bed and into his wheelchair, but he was still in his long johns.
“No church today,” Roman pointed out, “so what’re you going to wear? It’s a gut day for a heavy shirt, or maybe a sweater, chilly as it is.”
“It’ll take a lot more than a shirt and sweater to make me feel warm again,” Amos groused. “What’s clean? That’ll make the decision easy for me, won’t it?”
Roman bit back a remark about the preacher’s irritable mood, because pointing it out would only make Amos grouchier. “Do you want me to do your laundry tomorrow?” he asked as he went to the nearly empty closet. “I’ve heard Beulah, Christine, and Mamm have offered to wash your clothes, but you’ve not allowed them to.”
“Hate to be a bother.”
Roman shrugged, choosing a flannel shirt of deep green. “So run the washer from your wheelchair. Could you do that?”
Amos let out a humorless laugh. “I’m not supposed to leave this cave, remember? The doctor has turned me into a mole, and I’ll soon be as white as an albino from lack of sunlight.”
“So I’ll close the curtains in the rest of your house,” Roman challenged. “The doctor didn’t limit you to staying in one room. You’re only to avoid bright light.”
Amos glared at him. “What gut would that do? It’s not like I can reach the stove—”
“Fine. Put this on.” Roman took the shirt from its hanger, deciding it was time for a change of topic. “I’ve got a favor to ask, Amos. Would it be all right if I cleaned up your sleigh and took it out for a spin? We’ve got enough snow on the ground for some nice riding now.”
“We do?” Amos murmured ruefully. “I—I really feel o
ut of touch. What day is it?”
“Sunday, the twenty-second of November.”
“Oh.” Amos put the shirt on over the long johns he’d slept in, shaking his head. “I missed your mamm’s birthday yesterday . . . not to mention the wedding. How’s she doing with that?”
Roman considered his answer. Should he tell Amos about the hen party the ladies had held the night he jilted Mamm? Or make the preacher feel guilty about breaking her heart? “She and the other gals went into Forest Grove yesterday to shop for yarn and fabric,” he hedged. “Phoebe and Laura are all excited about the crochet club they’ve started. They’re going to make blankets and booties for Mary Kate’s baby, and afghans for folks who need them. It’s a mission project to occupy the cold winter evenings.”
Amos grunted. “They might as well crochet. It’s not like they’ve got husbands to look after.”
As Roman opened the dresser drawer, looking for clean pants, he frowned. It seemed that no matter what he said this morning, Amos was taking exception to it. “At least they’re busy and happy, doing something useful,” Roman pointed out. “Maybe I should wheel you over there so you could learn to crochet. It would be an improvement over how you’ve been spending your time alone, ain’t so?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Roman knew he’d been impolite. But maybe he’d made a point. Maybe Amos would take the hint.
With a heavy sigh, the preacher bowed his head. “They wouldn’t let me join them—and I can’t say as I’d blame them, either. I apologize for my cranky attitude, son. And I’d be delighted if you’d take that sleigh out and enjoy it,” Amos went on in a lighter voice. “Hitch Mabel up to it, would you? She loves the snow and she probably wonders why I’ve not been getting her out for some exercise.”
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