Mattie resumed her dish washing, unable to recognize the folks getting out of the van—the three fellows in broad-brimmed hats and the two women bundled in their black coats and bonnets resembled most of the folks they knew. One man who seemed vaguely familiar leaned down to ruffle the fur behind Queenie’s ears, and the dog jumped up to lick his cheek—something she only did to folks she knew. When the visitors entered the lodge lobby, Rosetta’s exclamation made Mattie and Christine dry their hands excitedly.
“Barbara and Bernice, is it really you?” Rosetta cried. “And your husbands are here—and Allen! Oh, but it’s gut to see you all!”
Mattie’s heart sped up as she and her sister hurried to the lobby. That had been Allen Troyer patting the dog! What had brought Amos’s kids all the way to Promise? She hadn’t seen the Troyer twins since they married the Helmuth brothers and moved east. Allen left Coldstream right after his mother died. But now that all five of the guests in the lobby had removed their hats, there was no denying they were Amos’s kids. “What a fine surprise,” Mattie said as she rushed in to greet them.
“We had no idea you folks were coming,” Christine put in as she, too, began hugging Barbara, Bernice, and a somewhat reluctant Allen. “Your dat will be so happy to see you.”
The three siblings glanced at each other as though they were uncertain about how to respond to this. Then Barbara gestured toward the two tall redheaded fellows behind them. “You remember Sam and Simon—”
Mattie smiled and nodded at the girls’ husbands. It tickled her, the way the Helmuth men’s names were always said together—Sam ’n’ Simon—so they sounded like one word. “And it’s gut to see you fellows, too,” she remarked. “I hope your nursery business is doing well?”
The redheads nodded. “Looking to expand,” one of them remarked, while the other brother curled the brim of his hat in his hands.
“Jah, we were saying as we came in that this area looks to be gut for growing trees and shrubs and such,” he said. “Do you know of any land that’s for sale?”
Allen grunted. “Kind of putting the cart before the horse, aren’t you?”
Barbara and Bernice seemed surprised about their husbands’ remarks. Mattie had always been hard-pressed to tell Amos’s daughters apart, so she wasn’t certain which one was speaking. “We got a call from Dat a while back,” one of them said.
“And we thought we’d better come for a visit,” her sister continued. “Dat’s doing all right, isn’t he?”
Mattie exchanged glances with Rosetta and Christine. “I suspect Amos will be much better when he sees you’ve come to visit,” Mattie hedged. “Your dat lives in the second house up the road.”
“The smaller one,” Rosetta clarified. “And up the hill we’ve got a nice place where you can all stay during your visit, as Lester—the owner—won’t be back until next spring.”
“Or Roman’s got spare rooms in his place, a couple doors down from your dat,” Mattie said. Then she got a better idea, knowing the Kuhn sisters wouldn’t mind and Bishop Floyd was in no shape to object. “You’re also welcome to stay in rooms upstairs here in the lodge. Either way, we’ll be glad to catch up with all of you—”
“And don’t worry about meals,” Christine insisted. “We’ll set you places at our table right here—and we’ve got a place for your driver to stay, as well.”
Sam and Simon glanced at each other and then one of them said, “If it’s all the same to you, we’ll stay here in the lodge where the food is.”
“Jah, whatever you had for dinner still smells mighty fine,” his brother put in. Then he smiled at Barbara and Bernice. “That way the girls won’t have to hike through the snow before they have their breakfast.”
“Or their coffee,” the other Helmuth twin added wryly.
Mattie and her sisters laughed. “That settles it, then! We’ll get three rooms ready—and one for your driver, as well,” Mattie said.
“Her name’s Vicki Winstead, and she’ll appreciate that,” Allen remarked. “She’s been putting up with the five of us for a lot of miles, and she’s ready to be off the road.”
“We started out yesterday afternoon and then stayed over when we picked Allen up in Indiana,” one of Amos’s daughters explained.
“And we’ve been on the road all this morning,” her sister finished. “It’s so gut to be here and to see you all again! We’ll go on over and surprise Dat now.”
The five visitors put on their hats and went back outside to board their van.
“There’s a story there,” Mattie murmured as she watched the vehicle head slowly up the road. “Amos never mentioned it, but I had the idea there’d been some misunderstandings or hurt feelings after Anna died.”
“Allen was always the rebel, hinting that he’d move away and jump the fence,” Rosetta recalled as they all headed back into the kitchen. “Mostly to spite his preacher dat, I always thought.”
“We’ll hope for the best from this visit,” said Christine. “What a blessing, that Amos’s kids have shown up at Christmastime.”
“And we’ll plan for some happiness while they’re here,” Rosetta chimed in. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they stayed through the New Year?”
* * *
Amos’s eyes widened as he finished shaving above his silver-shot beard. He’d come into the bathroom to clean up after lunch, and he’d heard Roman open the front door.
“Allen! Barbara and Bernice—and Sam and Simon!” Roman called out in surprise. “Wow, it’s been a long time. Come in! Come in!”
His kids were here? Amos hadn’t heard a word from them since he’d left his message on Barbara’s answering machine. He quickly rinsed his face and blotted it with a towel, wondering what on earth to say to them now that they’d shown up without any warning. How would he explain his wheelchair? The accident? And what would he say to soften their hearts . . . to convince them to forgive him for being such a stern, hard-hearted father?
You’re a preacher—a man who delivers the Word of God, Amos reminded himself. In his private moments, he’d often envisioned the conversation he so desperately needed to have with his children, yet now that the moment was at hand, he was at a loss for words that might end their separation. But the longer he took getting out to the front room, the more his children might assume he was stalling. When the kids had lived at home, he’d been up before dawn and had done most of a day’s work by this hour—
Life has changed directions for all of us. You can’t go back and repair the past, but your future with your kids starts right this minute.
Amos slid into his wheelchair and propelled himself out to where Roman was taking his visitors’ wraps. “What wonderful music to my ears, hearing your voices again!” Amos called out. “Did you have any trouble finding us here in Promise? It must have been a long trip for you.”
Allen appeared impatient—as usual. “English drivers have computerized gadgets that show you the way,” he pointed out. “But you did find a place out in the middle of nowhere, compared to Coldstream. So what’s with the wheelchair?”
Amos felt his temper prickling—as it always had when Allen spoke in such a sardonic tone. But it was his place, his sincerest desire, to put an end to the animosity that had come between them, so Amos smiled. “We moved here because we could no longer tolerate Bishop Chupp’s way of chastising everyone except Isaac,” he replied cheerfully, holding his son’s gaze. “Mattie, her sisters, and I felt Obadiah had lost his sense of perspective. His loyalty to God and his congregation were no longer his highest priorities. You were right about him all along, Allen.”
Allen’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s a first, you giving me credit for—”
“Allen, be kind,” Bernice warned her brother.
“Jah, we came here to make our peace,” Barbara reminded him sternly. “Don’t put us at odds before we even have a chance to talk things through.”
Amos was pleased that his girls were still putting their younger brother in his pl
ace after all these years—and he took heart because Barbara and Bernice were taking their father’s side, wanting to reconcile. “How about if we all sit down,” he suggested, gesturing toward the sofa and chairs. “I’ve not quite gotten my new place put together, but—”
“It’s a sweet little house,” Bernice said as she gazed around. “I see lots of furniture from our home in Coldstream.”
“And Promise Lodge looks like a wonderful-gut new colony, from what we’ve seen,” Barbara said as she headed for the sofa. “We sent our driver back to the lodge, figuring she’d feel right at home there with Mattie, Christine, and Rosetta.”
“We’re looking forward to taking them up on their invitation for meals, too,” Sam remarked as he angled his lanky body into the armchair nearest Barbara.
“Jah, some mighty fine smells were coming from that kitchen,” Simon said with a chuckle. “I remember meeting those three gals at our wedding, and they kept things pretty lively.”
Amos rolled his wheelchair so he was sitting between the end of the sofa and the two chairs that faced it. Despite the kids’ easy chatter, it felt a little awkward, seeing his son and two daughters—now adults—and the girls’ husbands gathered here in his front room. He would probably have had more—and newer—furniture if he’d married Mattie, but he set that thought from his mind.
“I’ve put the percolator on the stove,” Roman called from the kitchen. “If one of you girls would keep track of it, I’ll leave you to visit with your dat.”
“Denki, Roman. You’re a lifesaver—not that I’m comparing you to the candy,” Amos teased as he swiveled in his chair. “If you’re going to the Lehmans’, give them my best.”
When Roman waved and slipped out the kitchen door, Amos turned back to his kids. “You probably wonder why Roman’s looking after me,” he said, patting the arms of his wheelchair for emphasis. “I’ll give you the abbreviated story of how your old dat should’ve known better than to put his weight on a rotted roof.”
As Amos explained the fall that had caused his concussion and the weakening of his legs, he relaxed. It felt good to see his children’s matured faces, to watch their expressions become more intense, more concerned, while he was telling them about his trip to the hospital and the physical therapy he was receiving. He didn’t mention the part about canceling his wedding, because he hadn’t ever told them he and Mattie were engaged.
Yet another mistake you made, not keeping the kids informed about your plans to remarry, Amos mused as Barbara excused herself to fetch them some coffee. He’d thought his children would believe he’d swept their mother out of his life if he took another wife—and Amos realized now that he’d done Mattie yet another disservice by not telling his kids that she’d resumed an important place in his life. So many mistakes he’d made . . .
“So the bishop here is laid up, as well? And he’s in worse shape than you are?” Simon asked as he raked his red hair back from his face.
Amos nodded, grateful for a topic that didn’t require any remorse on his part—or did it? “I couldn’t believe it when Floyd rushed over with his arms out,” Amos murmured. “In fact, I thought he was talking crazy, demanding that God send angels to catch me. I—I owe Floyd more favors than I can count for the way he risked his own safety on my behalf. He had a stroke shortly after our accident, and he might never recover the use of his left side, or his ability to speak.”
And I’d better find a way to make amends and make myself useful to his family, Amos thought.
“You don’t suppose Obadiah Chupp will want to move here and take Floyd’s place, do you?” Bernice teased with a sparkle in her dark eyes.
Amos laughed out loud. “We had a run-in with Bishop Obadiah, concerning Isaac and Deborah Peterscheim—who’s now married to Noah Schwartz,” he added to update them. “I don’t see the Chupps coming here, but Preacher Eli’s family has joined us, and we’ve welcomed Preacher Marlin Kurtz and his family from Iowa, along with Bishop Floyd’s brother, Lester, who’s bringing his family back with him next spring.”
“Sounds like Promise Lodge has more than its share of preachers,” Allen remarked under his breath.
“And it won’t hurt you one little bit to associate with fellows who’re serving God, living responsible lives, little brother,” Barbara said as she carefully set a tray of filled coffee mugs on the end table. She handed Amos the first mug, letting her hands linger on his.
“Dat, when you called and said you hoped we kids could forgive you, I didn’t know what to think,” she said softly. “Bernice and I listened to your message again and again, and honestly, it’s we girls who need to apologize.”
“We should’ve kept writing to you after Mamm passed,” Bernice continued earnestly, “but we got caught up in our married lives and—and we didn’t know what to say, what with her being gone.”
“It’s a poor excuse,” Barbara insisted as she cupped her hands around Amos’s, “and we told Sam and Simon that the only true way to apologize was to come and see you. So they closed the nursery for the rest of the year, and here we are.”
Amos’s heart was thumping so hard he couldn’t speak for a moment. “You girls were always closer to your mamm, but I really should’ve been better at keeping in touch. I was pretty harsh at times while you were growing up, and not always very kind to your mother, either—”
“Oh, Dat, how can you say that?” Bernice asked. She rose from the sofa to join her sister, slipping her arm around Amos’s shoulders. “Mamm seemed perfectly happy to me, always humming while she worked around the house and looked after us. We lacked for nothing while we were growing up, and—well, we weren’t exactly angels. We needed a firm word now and again.”
“Didn’t we, Allen?” Barbara challenged as she gazed at her brother. “After all the talking we did on this subject during the ride to Missouri, don’t you dare leave Dat hanging, thinking it was his fault that you left home.”
Amos didn’t know what to say. Scenes from his vivid dreams of Anna replayed in his mind. He clearly recalled his wife telling him he cared more for the horses than he did for her—and that he’d been a lousy husband for abandoning her when the twins were born. And in the next dream, Allen had said a few choice words before he’d walked out, too. Yet his girls didn’t seem to believe their childhood had been particularly difficult or onerous.
Allen sighed loudly and began handing mugs of coffee to Sam and Simon—as a diversion, Amos sensed. His son had never been one to express his feelings or to apologize.
The apple hasn’t fallen too far from the tree, ain’t so?
Amos smiled ruefully. Allen had matured into a ruggedly handsome young man with dark hair and penetrating brown eyes. He would probably remain rough around the edges until some young woman took pity on him and agreed to be his wife—which meant Allen would either join the Old Order or marry someone of a different faith, a thought that twisted an imaginary knife in Amos’s gut.
When Allen had resumed his seat and taken a noisy slurp of his coffee, he gazed directly at Amos. To Amos, it was like looking in a mirror from when he’d been in his early twenties. And in some ways it was a painful reminder of what an attitude he’d had back then, too.
“It was mostly Chupp I couldn’t stomach,” Allen said in a low voice. “And jah, after Mamm died I wasn’t much on being in that house without her, so I took off to become my own man. Not that I’ve been hugely successful at it.”
Amos’s eyebrows rose. It had taken considerable courage for Allen to admit that he’d not done as well as he’d hoped. “What’re you doing these days, son?” he asked softly. “You had the aptitude to take up any trade you set your sights on.”
Allen’s face registered surprise. “Could’ve fooled me,” he murmured. “I took some course work in plumbing and electricity, figuring I’d be able to hire on with English contractors. But come time to take the licensing exams, I . . . I chickened out.”
Amos bit back a remark about how Allen would have no use f
or knowledge of electricity if he joined the Amish Church—which was exactly what Preacher Amos would’ve said a few years ago. Something in his son’s tone made Amos listen more carefully, hearing the fear and insecurity Allen wouldn’t have owned up to when he’d lived at home. “So you’ve learned a lot of useful skills, but you’re not officially a plumber or an electrician?” he asked gently. “What’s stopping you, son? I always figured you’d take on a trade I never had the smarts to master.”
With a short laugh, Allen shook his head. “Remember how I learned math and reading well enough when I was a scholar, but come time to take big tests, everything I knew flew out the window?” he asked sheepishly. “Well, I didn’t want to pay the fees and show up for the licensing tests only to flunk out. So I didn’t go. I’ve been getting a few jobs with fellows I took those classes with, but they can’t let me work on the commercial jobs because I’m not licensed.”
Amos felt terribly sorry for his son, just as he’d agonized over the way Allen’s poor grades in the Coldstream school had never reflected his true intelligence. What could he say to fix this dilemma? Amos recalled chiding and chastising Allen when he was younger, but that approach hadn’t worked, had it? His boy still lacked confidence when it came to written tests. Allen still feared failure.
“If you were to stay in Promise a while, maybe our Teacher Minerva could give you some practice at taking tests like the ones you need to get your licenses,” Amos mused aloud. He held his son’s gaze, pleased that Allen had admitted his need. “I’m not telling you what to do, understand. You probably want to head back to Indiana already, after seeing how small our new colony is.”
Allen’s lips twitched. “Truth be told, I sort of miss Missouri. But maybe you’ve hit on an idea,” he murmured. “Some of my trade school buddies got copies of sample tests on their computers and practiced with them before the exam.”
“And if you asked them, those fellows would probably give you printed copies to work with,” Simon said.
“Any one of us would help you practice with those tests,” Bernice continued eagerly. “Remember how Barbara and I used to make you play school with us?”
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