Weddings at Promise Lodge

Book 3: Promise Lodge

by Charlotte Hubbard

Genres: Amish & Mennonite; Christian Romance; Clean & Wholesome Romance

Synopsis

When Christine Bender meets widowed Bishop Monroe Burkholder, it's love at first sight. But Preacher Amos finds him too good to be true and is determined to find out what's behind his sudden, unannounced arrival. Still, the colony needs a new bishop, and everyone is excited to have a younger, more progressive leader.

As for Christine, Monroe returns her affection, but her bubble is soon burst when a young woman half his age arrives. Leola Duff claims Monroe ruined her, and she now intends to make an honest man of him. But throughout the process of discovering the truth about Leola's claims, Christine never doubts that Monroe is the fine man she believes him to be - and never wavers in her faith that all will work out as it should.

When Monroe is forced to confess the truth before the entire congregation, he can only pray that open hearts and minds will prevail, allowing him a future at Promise Lodge - and with Christine.

©2017 Charlotte Hubbard (P)2017 Dreamscape Media, LLC

Release date: June 27, 2017

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

As Christine Hershberger sat on the front pew bench, close enough to bask in the glow of her sister Mattie’s joy, she smiled brightly. At long last, she was attending the wedding that should’ve taken place years ago, when Mattie Bender and Amos Troyer were young and so deeply in love—before Dat had insisted that Mattie marry Marvin Schwartz instead. Now that Mattie and Preacher Amos had outlived their original mates, they were standing together, hand in hand, repeating the age-old vows after their new bishop, Monroe Burkholder. Christine, who’d lost her husband a couple of years ago, found it encouraging that at forty-five and fifty, her older sister and Amos had taken up where their youthful romance had left off, to enjoy a second chance at love that would see them through the rest of their lives.

Beside her on the bench, Rosetta grabbed Christine’s hand and squeezed it. This is so exciting! she mouthed.

Christine nodded, returning her younger sister’s squeeze. She had to admit, however, that the glimmer in Bishop Monroe’s green eyes eclipsed the happiness she felt for Mattie and Amos. Was it her imagination, or did Monroe glance at her as he led the happy couple in their vows, as though he hoped to be exchanging these sacred, binding phrases with her in the near future?

It was too soon to contemplate a wedding—the handsome bishop had only arrived at Promise Lodge a week and a half before, on Christmas Eve. Yet Christine’s pulse thrummed with the distinct possibility that widowed Monroe Burkholder was as attracted to her as she was to him. Her soul took on the sparkle of the snowy, sunlit hills outside. Hope blossomed in her heart, because it felt absolutely wonderful to believe that such a prosperous, upstanding man might be interested in becoming her husband.

“Amos and Mattie,” Monroe said, his resonant voice filling the room, “I pronounce you husband and wife.”

The wedding guests sprang to their feet, their applause resounding like thunder in the lodge’s large meeting room. Mattie blushed prettily as Amos turned her to face the crowd. When he slung his arm around her to kiss her, a loud whoop went up from the men’s side.

Rosetta laughed, linking her arm through Christine’s. “And they’ll live happily ever after,” she said wistfully. “Maybe there’s hope for us, too, sister.”

Christine nodded toward Truman Wickey, their neighbor, who—along with Allen Troyer—had been Preacher Amos’s side-sitter. “Here comes your hope as we speak, Rosetta,” she said. “Now that our new bishop has performed his first wedding at Promise Lodge, it’s a gut time to ask his feelings about an Amish woman hitching up with a Mennonite.”

“That’s only a part of what’s on my agenda,” Truman said as he came to stand beside them. His hazel eyes held a special glow as he grasped Rosetta’s hand. “We’ll speak with Bishop Monroe, jah, but we’ll also celebrate this special day with Mattie and Amos. Lots of food to eat and lots of fun to be had, the way I see it.”

“We’re grateful to Floyd Lehman, too,” Rosetta murmured as she glanced toward their former bishop, who was now confined to a wheelchair. “It was gut of him to turn over the reins to Monroe. I thought Floyd might insist on remaining our bishop even though he can’t talk anymore.”

Christine nodded. A serious fall and a concussion had incapacitated Floyd the previous fall, after he’d tried to catch Preacher Amos, who’d tumbled from the roof of the shed beside Rainbow Lake. Amos had wisely followed the doctors’ instructions and taken physical therapy, or he would still be confined to a wheelchair, too. Floyd hadn’t been as receptive to his English doctor’s advice. He was a mere shell of the blustery bishop who’d come to Promise Lodge claiming God had declared him the new colony’s leader before they’d even met him.

“Jah, we can thank God for giving Floyd the wisdom to step down,” Truman said. “I see it as a fresh start for your whole colony now that Monroe has come—and a fresh start for Amos now that he’s married Mattie and his twins have decided to move back here to Missouri, as well.”

“I believe Sam and Simon Helmuth’s nursery and greenhouses will be a boon to our other businesses,” Christine remarked, smiling as she watched Amos’s identical daughters congratulate their dat. “Barb and Bernice have always kept things lively—and when their babies arrive, Amos and Mattie will have grandkids to spoil.”

“And I bet they’ll have fiery red hair, just like Sam and Simon,” Rosetta teased.

“Unless I miss my guess, Allen Troyer plans to live at Promise Lodge, as well,” Truman remarked as Amos’s dark-haired son clapped his dat on the back. “He was telling me he plans to take his license exams to become a plumber and an electrician, and then he’ll be set to help build the new houses his sisters and Bishop Monroe will need.”

“It’s amazing, how much our colony has grown,” Christine said. “Just last May we were purchasing this old, run-down church camp, and now we’re really picking up steam. It’s a dream come true—”

“And we have Mattie to thank for turning our dream into reality,” Rosetta put in.

“My dream,” Truman said with a mischievous wink, “is to stuff myself with wedding food and have you all to myself for the rest of the day, Rosetta.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Rosetta said playfully. “Let’s see if our cooks need any help carrying their heavy pans of food to the dining room, shall we?”

Christine smiled as her sister and Truman made their way through the crowd, following Mattie and Amos to the dining room. It was such a blessing to see Rosetta blooming at last, after devoting most of her adult life to caring for their parents until they passed. Truman Wickey was a wonderful man—and with his landscaping equipment, he’d felled trees, cut the underbrush from the orchard, and cleared the paths that would become the roads between their homes and businesses. She had a feeling Rosetta and Truman would be marrying soon, if Bishop Monroe decided their colony would agree to interfaith marriages—a more progressive belief than many Old Order Amish settlements condoned.

“You look lovely in that deep red dress, Christine. It was all I could do to keep my mind on marrying Amos and your sister.”

When Christine turned, Bishop Monroe was standing so close she nearly bumped into him. She smiled up at him a little nervously, for he was tall and broad and extraordinarily handsome—and his dimples had come out to play. “Mattie wanted Rosetta and me to have new dresses with some color to them,” she explained. “And since Christmas was only a couple of weeks ago, we decided this red would be more cheerful than, say, the usual dark blue or gray or teal.”

“Mattie’s a wise woman—with admirable taste in color, and in husband material, as well,” he added. He held her gaze with his glowing green eyes. “May I have the honor of sitting with you at dinner, Christine? And spending the rest of the day with you, as well? Once we’re alone, I’d like to discuss some important decisions.”

Christine wondered if Monroe could hear how rapidly her heart was beating. Was her face as red as her dress? “I’d like that a lot, Monroe,” she said breathlessly.

The crowd around them seemed to disappear as he offered her his elbow. All Christine could see was Monroe’s attractive face, framed by wavy brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard—and those deep green eyes that focused so intently on her. What decisions could he possibly want to discuss with her? Did she dare hope he wanted her to become a permanent part of his new home, his new life, at Promise Lodge?

Monroe might’ve remained rooted to the spot, gazing at Christine’s flawless skin and the glossy brown hair pulled neatly beneath her kapp, and those green eyes as serene as an evergreen forest—except the happy folks around them had other ideas.

“Say there, Bishop! Better head into the dining room before you eat Christine alive!” one of the men teased.

“Jah, I’ve been inhaling the aromas of our meal all morning,” another fellow said as he clapped Monroe on the back. “Ruby and Beulah Kuhn and the other gals have whipped up quite a feast, I’m guessing.”

“No doubt about that,” Monroe said. He winked at Christine before turning to reply to these men, whose names he’d learned but whose voices he didn’t yet recognize. “Ruby and Beulah and the others have put a few pounds on me this week—and if I go through the buffet line before you, Eli and Marlin, you’ll be lucky if there’s enough food left to fill your plates,” he teased.

Monroe was pleased that two of Promise Lodge’s preachers felt comfortable enough to joke with him. Eli Peterscheim was a welder who’d followed Amos and Mattie and her sisters here from their previous Amish community, while Marlin Kurtz had come from Iowa with his married son, daughter-in-law, and two teenagers to reestablish his barrel factory. Marlin had agreed to serve as the colony’s deacon, because Eli and Amos had already been established as the two preachers.

But Amos was not particularly chummy with Monroe.

Monroe figured on giving Amos time to settle in with his new wife before he questioned him about his misgivings. It was true that he’d arrived at an unexpectedly opportune time to become Promise Lodge’s new bishop, yet he sensed Amos doubted his intentions and his background. He wanted nothing to interfere with the relationships he would establish with his new flock—and especially with his preachers.

His past was behind him. And Monroe intended to keep it there.

He smiled at the folks who’d gathered around him and Christine—men and boys mostly, because the other women and girls had gone to the lodge’s large kitchen to help set out the meal. “It’s a happy day, and I’m blessed and grateful to be here amongst you,” he said as he met their gazes. “Every one of us came to Promise Lodge for a fresh start, and I look forward to the new future God will provide for us.”

“Let’s eat, Bishop Monroe!” a boy in the back piped up.

“Jah, we’re hungry!” his friend chimed in. “It’s been a long morning in church!”

Monroe laughed out loud. Lowell Kurtz and Lavern Peterscheim were the two boys who’d walked and stabled his Clydesdale after he’d arrived during a snowstorm on Christmas Eve. At twelve and thirteen, they were ruled by their stomachs. “You boys have your priorities in order,” he agreed jovially. “I think you need to go on ahead, to be sure the food’s fit for the rest of us.”

The lanky boys, all decked out in their best black pants and vests with crisp white shirts, didn’t wait to be asked a second time. As Lavern and Lowell grinned at him before entering the dining room, Monroe recalled his own boyhood with the uncle and aunt who’d taken him in after his parents died in a house fire. It did his heart good to see young boys taking an active part in their new settlement, for they were the future of Promise Lodge. He looked forward to hiring these two and their friends after his Clydesdales took up residence in the large barns he would have built for them.

A tug on his coat sleeve brought him out of his musings. Christine was smiling at him, making his heart thrum with longings he hadn’t felt since his wife had died.

“My sisters and I consider you our guest of honor at this wedding feast,” she murmured. “Shall we go?”

Monroe was momentarily tongue-tied. Shall we go? If Christine knew what that simple question, spoken in her soft, flowing voice, did to him . . .

But then, Christine was forty, and she’d given her husband two fine daughters before he’d died in a barn fire two years earlier. Her wistful, hopeful expression told Monroe that she did, indeed, know the effect she had on him—and that she had no intention of letting him off easy. At this point in his life, he found women who spoke their minds a lot more enticing than he had when he’d been a young man exchanging vows the first time.

“Yes, dear,” he replied playfully as he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow again. “Whatever you say, Christine.”

Rosetta clasped her hands, gazing around the dining room with a full heart. Because Amos and Mattie had wanted to marry before his kids returned to their homes out East, she and her sisters and the other women had baked the pies and the bread the day before. They had pressed the white tablecloths that graced the worn tables and chairs that had remained at Promise Lodge from when it was a church camp. Rather than hold the wedding in Amos’s house, they had all agreed that if the service was conducted in the lodge’s meeting room, no one would have to tromp through the snow to eat dinner. Beulah and Ruby Kuhn, who rented apartments upstairs, had directed the preparation of a fabulous feast—which Truman and Mattie’s sons, Noah and Roman Schwartz, were wheeling out on carts. They began arranging the large metal pans on a buffet table set up along the wall.

The air was redolent with aromas of chicken baked with stuffing, creamed celery, fresh bread, and mashed potatoes—traditional wedding dishes—as well as many other favorites, including the baked venison roast Amos had requested and the corn casserole Mattie had always adored. Fruit salad and slaw rounded out the menu. The Kuhn sisters had outdone themselves making a tall white wedding cake with the newlyweds’ names on it, which sat proudly at the eck—the corner table where the wedding party was gathering before they filled their plates. The cake they’d frozen after Amos had fallen during their engagement party graced the dessert table, along with dozens of pies and bars. Christine’s daughters, Laura and Phoebe, stood behind the table to cut and plate slices of pie, while Marlin Kurtz’s daughter-in-law, Minerva, was arranging the bars on platters.

“Bishop Monroe says we can eat first!” Lavern Peterscheim crowed as he and Lowell Kurtz burst into the dining room. “We’re starving!”

Minerva gazed purposefully at the boys. On ordinary weekdays she was their schoolteacher, so she was adept at dealing with them. “You know that members of the wedding party are the first to fill their plates,” she reminded them. “They won’t be doing that until all the food’s been set out, so cool your heels, gentlemen.”

“But the side-sitters are all busy,” Lowell protested as he watched Truman set the large metal pan of creamed celery on the serving table.

“Shall I find you fellows a job?” Minerva countered. “You could help fill the water glasses.”

With loud sighs, Lavern and Lowell went over to where Amos and Mattie were talking with Amos’s son. “Bishop Monroe said we could go first,” one of them murmured—and Preacher Amos heard his plea.

“Tell you what, fellows,” Amos said as he reached across the table to shake their hands. “This isn’t like a wedding where it’s two young people getting married, and we older folks are liable to chatter all day while you boys wither away. When Truman says everything’s ready, you can load your plates.”

Rosetta chuckled when a couple other boys slipped into the dining room to await Truman’s signal, as well. Including Truman’s mother and some longtime friends from their former home in Coldstream, nearly seventy people were present for this happy occasion—and everyone could be seated for dinner at the same time. Rosetta was pleased that her lodge building could be the center of social life at Promise Lodge, because its meeting room and dining room—and its commercial-sized kitchen—made it much easier to accommodate everyone at special gatherings.

“Come on in, folks,” Truman called out over the men’s conversations. “Soon as our cooks join us, we’ll be ready to eat this fabulous feast!”

A few moments later, the women brightened the room with their warm smiles and lively chatter. When Truman handed a plate to Lowell Kurtz, the boys rushed over to start the buffet line. Amos and Mattie followed them, and Rosetta waved Christine and Bishop Monroe toward the line before joining Truman and Amos’s son.

“Might be an advantage to being in the wedding party,” Allen Troyer remarked as he gazed at the food on the serving table. At twenty-three, he was taller than his dat and wore his black hair a little longer then most Amish fellows. “A crowd like this can go through a lot of food.”

“Never fear,” said Rosetta. “Ruby and Beulah have more of everything ready to serve. From the amount of food I saw this morning, we’ll probably be eating leftovers for days after the guests leave.”

“I hope I’m invited to help you get rid of those leftovers,” Truman hinted as he picked up a plate and his silverware.

Rosetta’s stomach fluttered when he held her gaze with his soulful hazel eyes. “Don’t wait for an invitation, dear,” she murmured. “You’re welcome here any time you care to come.”

“Ooh—sounds like there might be another wedding soon,” Allen teased as he followed them through the line.

“Might be,” Truman affirmed, and he didn’t miss a beat tossing the topic back at Allen. “How about you? Got a special girl in Indiana you’re bringing back with you?”

Allen laughed. “Haven’t felt the need for any such entanglements,” he replied breezily. “The bachelor life has its advantages—”

“But if you change your mind,” Rosetta interrupted, “you’ve known Laura and Phoebe Hershberger all your life. Gloria Lehman’s single, as well.”

“You sound like Mattie, trying to match me up,” Allen protested. “From what Dat’s told me, I’ll have plenty to keep me busy when I move here, what with building houses for my sisters, as well as the Helmuth Nursery buildings and Bishop Monroe’s house and barns. No time to fiddle-faddle around with the women.”

Rosetta took a big scoop of mashed potatoes and a large portion of the chicken and stuffing, then spooned creamed celery over everything. The ladies in the kitchen had been speculating about Allen, too, and it was no secret that Gloria Lehman had her eye on him. As Rosetta recalled the way Gloria had gone all out to win Roman Schwartz’s heart—until he’d proposed to her younger sister, Mary Kate—she had a feeling Allen would receive a lot more attention than he anticipated.

She wondered if Amos’s son was staying single because he hadn’t felt compelled to join the Amish church, but it was a topic she didn’t feel comfortable asking him about in the presence of all these people. Rosetta was pleased that Barb and Bernice had talked Allen into moving here with them. Younger folks were the key to Promise Lodge’s growth.

When she sat down at the eck table beside Truman, the light in his eyes made her hold her breath.

“Honey-girl, if your new bishop allows us to marry, when do you want to tie the knot?” he murmured as he grasped her hand. “I fell head over heels for you the moment I met you last summer, making dinner in that big kitchen—”

“Jah, the way to a man’s heart has always been through his stomach,” Rosetta teased. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she suddenly felt like a tongue-tied teenager. It still surprised her, the way Truman made much of her and waxed so romantic, considering he was somewhat younger than she was.

Truman smiled. “I have no fears of going hungry after we marry,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over her hand. “But my clock’s ticking. I’m thirty and I want a family—I can’t wait to watch you grow big with our children, Rosetta.”

Rosetta held her breath. She, too, had dreamed of mothering a large family, but the years after losing her first fiancé and then caring for her aging parents had slipped by. Even though God granted children to women who were older than she, at thirty-seven, Rosetta was concerned about getting such a late start. “My clock’s ticking, too,” she murmured. “I—I hope I’ll be able to have healthy, normal babies—”

Truman squeezed Rosetta’s hand, gazing at her until her worries disappeared. “We’ll do our best,” he stated. He smiled playfully. “Maybe we should slip away and start practicing right now—and keep at it until we get it right.”

Rosetta felt her face flushing. Truman’s way of making her feel desirable was only one of the reasons she loved him. “We’d better speak with Monroe soon,” she teased. “And, gee, since the tables are already set up for a crowd—and we’ll still have lots of food—maybe he’d marry us tomorrow.”

Truman picked up his fork. “That would suit me fine, time-wise, but you deserve better than someone else’s leftovers, Rosetta. We should have our own special day. Soon.”

She gazed at her loaded plate, blinking back happy tears. Truman’s gentle voice and his way with words had always made her feel especially blessed. Although Rosetta loved living in the lodge and renting apartments to single Plain women, she suddenly knew that for Truman, she would leave that life to live in his home up the hill. “I love you, Truman,” Rosetta whispered as she dipped her fork into her mashed potatoes.

“I know,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “I love you more with each passing day, pretty girl. My heart’s in your hands.”

Rosetta’s heart swelled. She’d prayed about it often, and there was no way around it—she loved Truman so much she would leave the Old Order and become a Mennonite if Bishop Monroe refused to marry them. For Truman alone she would endure whatever separation and censure the folks of Promise Lodge dished out if she left her lifelong religion behind.

“You’re looking awfully serious, considering we’re at a party, Rosetta.”

Rosetta smiled at Mattie, who sat on her other side, and she realized her fears were unfounded: her sisters and the new friends who’d come to live here all adored Truman. The strictest Amish settlements believed that if a member left the Old Order to marry a Mennonite, the deserter would lose all chance of the Lord’s salvation—and that family members should no longer associate with them.

But Rosetta knew her sisters would never shut her out. She and Mattie and Christine had sold their farms to buy Promise Lodge, to start a colony where spousal abuse wasn’t tolerated and peace was part of the promise of living here.

Rosetta smiled as she slipped an arm around Mattie’s shoulders. “It’s the best party ever, too, seeing you and Amos together at last,” she said. “Never fear, sister. I may look serious, but I’m planning for happiness in a big way—and it’ll happen soon!”

Christine couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so happy. Even though she and Monroe were seated at the end of the eck table with the wedding party—on display for all of the other guests—she forgot about being nervous when the handsome bishop smiled at her as though she were the only person in the room.

“What say we slip away for a while?” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. “Those slices of pie are tempting—but not nearly as tempting as the chance to spend some time with you when folks aren’t gawking at us.”

Christine smiled. “Jah, I can tell that our friends who came from Coldstream—where we used to live—are curious about you and me being . . . together.”

Monroe’s eyes sparkled. “Well, if they’re gossiping about us, they’re giving somebody else a rest,” he joked. He focused intently on her. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Give me a few minutes, and then wait for me out on the porch, okay? You’ll want your coat and boots.”

Her eyes widened. Before she could quiz him about his plans, Monroe excused himself by congratulating Amos and Mattie again before exiting the crowded dining room. As he slipped out through the kitchen, Mattie leaned forward to look past Amos and down the table at Christine.

“What’s Monroe up to?” she asked. “He hasn’t had his pie yet.”

Christine shrugged, wondering if her smile appea. . .