Promise Lodge (8 page)

Chapter Seven

Rosetta opened her bedroom window Friday morning and inhaled the fresh scent of rain. The patter on the roof made her smile as she looked out over the garden plots that would benefit greatly from the first real moisture they'd received since Christine's girls and Mattie had planted them. The wet weather brought a welcome day of indoor work for everyone: Roman's hammering rang out from the barn, where he was building more stanchions and stalls. Noah, Preacher Amos, and Deborah continued their painting and repair work in the cabins.

Phoebe and Laura were cleaning out a large storage room on the main floor of the lodge, seeing it as a sort of treasure hunt, while their mother and Mattie polished the paneled walls of one of the large rooms that had once served as a conference area. Preacher Amos envisioned that room as a place to hold church services when more families came to Promise Lodge, while the women considered it the perfect area for quilting frolics and other social gatherings.

Rosetta smiled as she looked around the large room she'd chosen as her own. Located beside the back staircase, which led downstairs to the pantry and kitchen, it was the perfect dwelling place for an apartment manager. Her sisters had also chosen rooms on this side of the house as their new homes, because it seemed so much simpler than managing houses and property. This novel concept had inspired Rosetta to create more apartments in the lodge building for other unattached women who wanted to start fresh here, as well.

Her room, with its dormered ceiling, a private bathroom, a fireplace, and space enough for a sitting area as well as her bedroom furniture, had probably been the camp director's apartment. From the various windows she could see Rainbow Lake, the orchard and the hiking trails beyond it, the barn and other outbuildings, and the arched metal entryway sign at the road. Did God feel as fascinated and pleased with His domain when He surveyed it as she did when she gazed out over this parcel of rural Missouri?

Rosetta laughed at this notion. She would never compare herself to the Lord, but it gave her a heady feeling when she beheld the trees and rolling hills that she and her sisters had purchased. From this vantage point, Rosetta could see for miles and miles—a much grander view than she'd had while living in the downstairs bedroom of her parents' house.

A loud rumbling drew her attention beyond the woods to their only visible neighbor—who was driving a large truck out of a metal-sided warehouse building. Rosetta and her sisters intended to go over and introduce themselves, but that visit could wait until working on the lodge didn't feel so urgent. Old Order folks weren't eager to initiate contact with English, nor did they want to attract curious outsiders to their settlement.

Rosetta was pleased, however, to see that the white house on the hilltop above the warehouse appeared well maintained. Its wide front porch, lush lawn, and profusion of flowering bushes suggested that these neighbors shared a lot of her interests. The grassy lot behind the house was surrounded by a white plank fence, and a couple of horses grazed near the barn.

Someday I'll find out who those folks are,
she thought as she approached the wooden chest at the end of her bed.
But today I'm taking a different sort of journey. Help me do this with grace and confidence, Lord.

Rosetta lifted the lid of the cedar-lined chest Dat had made for her thirteenth birthday, just as he'd given one to Mattie and Christine when they'd reached that age. The pungency of cedar and sachets wafted up from the quilts she'd made and the linens she'd embroidered, looking toward the day when she married. Such high hopes and sweet dreams she'd had while she'd stitched these pieces—

And it's time to fulfill my intention for them,
Rosetta thought as she picked out two quilts and sets of sheets that would go with them. With a resolute smile, she carried the linens to the adjacent rooms, where her parents' bedroom set and the nicest pieces of their guest room furniture had been arranged. Someday soon, new residents could enjoy the cozy ambiance these hand-crafted pieces gave to their rooms while their apartments were being remodeled. As Rosetta made up the double bed in the smaller room, her spirit felt light and happy. When she'd stitched this quilt as a teenager, her tastes in color and design had run contrary to traditional Amish patterns—

The clatter of footsteps and her nieces' happy voices made Rosetta straighten to her full height. She prayed she could answer the girls' questions with wisdom and a positive attitude.

“Aunt Rosetta! Look what we found!” Laura called out when she'd topped the stairs.

“You won't believe the boxes of awesome—” Phoebe stopped midsentence when she spotted Rosetta. “And where did you get
that
quilt?”

The girls set aside some planks of wood they'd carried upstairs, and Laura chuckled as she approached the bed to look at it. “Those are butterflies! Made from folded hankies— some of them with cool crocheted borders! I can't see Grandma working on a bright, flowery piece like this one.”

“
Jah,
she tried to talk me out of using prints, saying they'd be impractical when I got older,” Rosetta replied as she gazed fondly at the quilt. “I was maybe fifteen when I made this one, from hankies that had belonged to my mamma's mother and her sisters when they were in their
rumspringa
. Can you tell I really loved pink back then?”

Phoebe ran a reverent finger over one of the butterflies. “So you folded the hankies to make their wings, and then embroidered the body and their antennae—”

“And stitched them onto pale pink squares before you put them together with this bright pink calico,” Laura finished with a grin. “What a wonderful way to save these hankies—and they're in prettier prints than the ones you find in the catalogs now.”

Rosetta smiled, pleased that her nieces shared her love for family pieces that would otherwise have grown yellow with age in the attic. “I thought it was time to use these linens instead of hiding them away in my chest,” she said, hoping her voice didn't waver. “I won't be getting married, but I
will
be welcoming new renters—”

“Oh, Aunt Rosetta, you can't mean that!” Laura blurted.

“You should never give up hope that the right fellow will come along,” Phoebe insisted as she held Rosetta's gaze with her blazing blue eyes. “I've been praying for that, and I believe it will happen now that we've moved away from Coldstream!”

Part of Rosetta wished she hadn't gone down this conversational trail, because she recalled feeling the same romantic fervor, the same endless hope, when she'd been her nieces' age. But it was time to let the girls know that she felt happy and fulfilled with the
maidel
life God had granted her—time to explain that the single life offered opportunities rather than a reason to feel shame or loneliness.

“Truth be told, the right young man was courting me when I was twenty—your age, Phoebe,” Rosetta replied with a wistful smile. “Tim was helping my
dat
take down a dead tree. He was climbing up high to saw off some of its branches, and the top section of the tree gave way. When Tim hit the ground, his neck broke—and the accident broke our spirits for a while, too.”

Laura's face fell and tears filled Phoebe's eyes. “I—we had no idea,” she murmured.

Rosetta smiled sadly. “We didn't talk about it much. You were a wee little girl when it happened and Laura wasn't yet born,” she explained. “A few years later, both Mamm and Dat started having health problems, so it was the natural order of things for me to stay home and look after them—not that I wanted to get serious about anybody after Tim passed away. I was sure he'd been the man God intended for me to marry.”

Rather than get into a theological discussion about why God had allowed her beau to die, Rosetta smoothed the butterfly quilt beneath the two pillows with their embroidered cases. “Mamm and I enjoyed sewing together, so I cherish the pieces we made because we passed many happy hours,” she remarked. “Several of those quilts are still in my trunk, and now I've got the perfect place to use them. Come and see my other wild quilt!”

Rosetta playfully steered the two girls into the next room. She grabbed the edge of the quilt she'd left on the unmade bed and shook it open. “Can you tell your grandma didn't make this one, either?” she teased.

Laura laughed while she and Phoebe straightened the colorful coverlet to get a better look at its oddly shaped pieces. “What
are
these? Why did you cut the fabric skinny at one end and pointy at the other?”

Rosetta smiled. “Those are neckties that English men wear for dress-up,” she explained. “I cut them in half and then positioned them with the narrow end of one against the wider end of another one.”

“And then you sewed them onto long fabric panels and joined the panels with this bright blue fabric,” Laura said. “Where did you get so many neckties? There must be dozens of them here, with so many colors and patterns my eyes don't know where to focus first!”

“
Jah,
it was a fun quilt to put together. I was still in my
rumspringa,
so Mamm allowed me to have a
gut
time with it—especially since the ties didn't cost me a cent,” Rosetta went on. “Somebody English dropped bags of neckties into the thrift store's collection box and the lady who ran the place had no idea what to do with them all. She said they were so out of date, nobody would ever buy them.”

“I like it!” Phoebe declared.

“I'm glad you're getting your pieces out and using them,” Laura said. “These rooms will look really special with your quilts and embroidered pillowcases—and who knows? Maybe some of the ladies who rent your apartments won't have much bedding or furniture to bring with them.”

“I thought I'd be ready to provide anything some of them might not have,” Rosetta replied with a nod.

“And maybe you'll want to use these, too.” Phoebe fetched the dark wooden plaques she'd left in the other room. “We found a whole bunch of them in the closet we're cleaning out.”

Rosetta's eyes widened. “Kids must've made these while they were attending camp,” she speculated. “Think how much time it took to spell out the Lord's Prayer with alphabet soup letters, and then glue on the words and the macaroni trim around the edges!”

“And this one is the Twenty-Third Psalm,” Laura said, holding another plaque so Rosetta could see it. “We found plaques made with different colors of dried beans and corn, too.”

“Pictures of chickens and roosters and flowers,” Phoebe elaborated, “along with a really large one of the Last Supper.”

“And we found a big angel hanging that somebody crocheted with tiny white thread, but it's got some brown spots. Mamm thought they might be water stains.” Laura's whole face lit up with her smile. “We threw away a lot of dried-up glue and melted crayons and faded construction paper, but finding the plaques and pictures was even better than discovering some of the stuff in our attic when we were packing to move here.”

Rosetta smiled as she imagined the items the girls had described. “Let's go downstairs and take a look at those pictures. Wouldn't it be fun to display them in some of the common rooms or hallways? Maybe we can soak that crocheted angel in some vinegar water to remove the stains.”

As the three of them left the room, Phoebe paused in the doorway for one last look at the necktie quilt. “I bet it took some nerve to get out the linens you'd made for when you got married, Aunt Rosetta,” she said softly. “I'm glad you showed them to us and explained about why you've stayed a
maidel
. I've never believed you didn't have guys wanting to court you—”

“But now that I know you chose not to marry,” Laura chimed in, “the whole picture of your life makes more sense. You've been piecing your path together the way you wanted it, like you did with your unusual quilts.”

Rosetta hugged her nieces' shoulders. “I'm so glad you girls understand what I've told you,” she said softly. “Your
mamm
and your aunt Mattie and I are getting our second wind now, after we've lost important people in our lives. And you know what? We're finding out that unattached women don't have to follow so many
rules,
” she pointed out. “It's not a bad thing, being single. But don't say that to Preacher Amos. Bless his heart, he wants us to be happy in the traditional way.”

“He wants Aunt Mattie to cook and keep house for him, too,” Laura remarked.

Rosetta chuckled. “They were sweethearts for a long time before Dat steered Mattie toward marrying Marvin,” she said. “After the way he treated her, though, your aunt is determined not to marry again. We'll see who wins—your aunt, or Amos.”

Phoebe frowned, stopping before they descended the back stairway. “Why was Uncle Marvin so mean?” she whispered. “We loved playing with Roman and Noah when we were kids—but not when their
dat
was home. We never knew when he might get cross with us, or with Aunt Mattie.”

“Mamm always told us not to gossip about it,” Laura chimed in earnestly. “She said we shouldn't talk about the Schwartzes' personal business, nor quiz Aunt Mattie about any bruises we might see.”

Rosetta listened to her nieces with a sad heart. Their words confirmed the way folks in Coldstream—and in most Amish colonies, she suspected—looked the other way when a man mistreated his wife. If she and her sisters were to end the cycle of abuse here, they would need younger women of Phoebe and Laura's generation to help them carry out their vow.