An Amish Wedding (14 page)

“
Ya
, certainly. Come this way.”

The bishop lifted a lamp, and Rose met Luke’s shuttered gaze as she began to pray for him and the words he might feel convicted to say.

Chapter Twenty-Four

T
HE NEXT DAY WAS CHURCH SERVICE, AND BEYOND DRIVING
her home and telling her that he would speak at the end of the service, Luke didn’t go into what he and the bishop had discussed. Rose felt it within her spirit that it was not a time to question, so she went quietly to bed.

“What was all the ruckus last night?” her
mamm
asked when Rose entered the kitchen the next morning. “I thought you and Luke might have been having an argument.”

Rose sighed. She’d decided last night that the next time she was asked a direct question about what had been going on lately that she would give a direct answer. She found herself telling her
mamm
, and the rest of the family as they entered for breakfast, about Sylvia and the children.

Her father pointed with his forked bacon. “You mean to say that Luke has been the Rob in the . . . the thief hereabouts?”

Rose shrugged. “For a cause.”

Her
daed
considered. “Well, Bishop Ebersol’s a wise man; he’ll handle it all right. But you, young lady, had no business out in those woods alone.”

Rose was struck by a sudden inspiration. “I did say that your thief might be female,
Daed
. Perhaps I just had to prove my point.”

Her
daed
stared at her, then laughed aloud as she’d hoped he would. Her brothers joined in reluctantly. Even her
mamm
and
Aenti
Tabby smiled.

So they went in good spirits to the buggies and on to church, which was being held at the Lamberts’ that morning. Joseph Lambert greeted them with a warm smile at the door.

Rose hoped that her marriage might go as well as that of Joseph and Abby. Abby Lambert certainly looked happy as she sat in the married women’s section, her stomach rounded with obvious pregnancy. Rose pushed aside the thought of carrying Luke’s child and made her way to sit down next to Priscilla. Rose squeezed her friend’s hand and decided that Priscilla was looking better, though still too pale, as the wedding loomed.

Then the service began, and Rose was lost in the ancient soothing rhythm of the hymns and the message of Scripture. Then, at last, when she thought Luke must have been mistaken about speaking, the bishop rose to address the community.

“Before we would dismiss, there’s a matter of confession that’s come to my attention. Young Luke Lantz would ask your patience while he speaks.” The bishop sat down, and the crowd rustled with curiosity as Luke made his way forward to the head of the benches.

Rose’s heart ached at his pallor, but she knew his eyes were steady and clear. Priscilla now clasped her hand, and Rose was grateful for the support.

Luke began to speak in a strong voice, and the general rustlings of the crowd ceased as his words burned into Rose’s heart.

“I have betrayed you all,” he began. “All of you, but especially those I love. It’s easier to tell what you may think is the heavier offense—that I’ve been the one who stole from you these past months.”

Rose couldn’t ignore the faint gasps of surprise, and swallowed hard.

“Why I took from you doesn’t matter. I did it. It was wrong. I confess this wrong and beg your forgiveness. But . . . there’s more . . .”

Rose felt his gaze rivet to hers across the space of crowded benches.

“I’ve betrayed you by expecting little from you as a community, as a people. The truth is . . . the truth is that I’ve been angry at
Derr Herr
since my mother died. And I’ve been angry at all of you. I started to believe that if you didn’t have the power to save my mother, then you had no power together at all. And that is so wrong. Someone very wise told me that I had judged you, and it’s true. I might have asked for your help for a woman and family in need, but I didn’t. I believed I could do it alone . . .”

His voice broke a bit, and silent tears slipped down Rose’s cheeks. Priscilla squeezed her hand harder.

“Alone is not what our people are about. Our strength lies in our community. I have wronged the community. I confess this before you all and ask for your forgiveness.” He dropped to his knees and bent his dark head.

The bishop rose and placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Is it the will of the community, then, to grant Luke Lantz the forgiveness he begs for?”

There was a general assent of
ya
’s, and Rose breathed a sigh of relief.

“Then,” the bishop continued, “please come forward following our dismissal to greet Luke Lantz with renewed goodwill and acceptance.”

Rose received Priscilla’s hug, then wended her way forward to stand next to Luke. He caught her hand in a fierce grasp, which she returned as people began to come forward.

“Stole my best linens, young man?” Esther Mast inquired with a glint in her faded blue eyes.

“Yes. I’m very sorry,” Luke said steadily.

The old woman sniffed. “Well, keep ’em. Probably for a
gut
cause. Would have given ’em to you had you asked.”

“I know that now.”

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Mast mused, ignoring the press of the crowd around her with the distinct dignity of the aged. “Seems like I’ve got some more linens in a trunk upstairs. They’ll make a fine wedding gift to go with what you already got.” She gave Rose’s hand a squeeze with her bony fingers.

“Danki,”
Rose whispered.

Joseph Lambert was next. “Hey, anytime you want to talk, friend, I’m here.
Ach
, and keep that old goat of ours too. Kicked me once too often.” He shook Luke’s hand and winked at Rose.

They came, one after the other, to forgive and to give, telling Luke to keep all that he had taken and offering more should he need it.

Rose thrilled in heart and praised the Lord when Luke turned to her and whispered, “You were right, Rose.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

W
ORD OF THE DETAILS OF
S
YLVIA AND THE CHILDREN
spread about the community, and Luke was inundated with offers of places to stay, clothes for the children, and a hundred other small kindnesses that made abundance seem too small a word.

In all of the details, he barely had time to talk to Rose and sheepishly asked Joshua one morning if he’d do a favor for him.

“Flowers?” Joshua snorted. “Weeds, you mean? There’s nothing much growing now . . . Why not ride into town and get her something?”

“Just get a bouquet of something pretty. She likes the outdoors, and I want to get over there this evening and see her alone.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll have it ready.”

That evening Joshua thrust a thick bouquet into the darkness of the buggy.

“Danki.”
Luke sneezed, wondering exactly what his brother had picked. He drove the short distance to the Benders’, glad to be rid of his crutches, and went to knock softly on the back door.

Rose opened it with a shy smile, and he produced the bouquet, watching her face light up as she stepped back into the light of several lamps. Then he noticed what she held and dashed the flowers from her arms to the floor.

“Luke? What—are you—”

“Ach
, that
bruder
of mine! It’s poison ivy, Rose.”

She gasped and ran to the sink. They both knew that she was badly allergic to the stuff, and somehow Joshua had grabbed a strand as background to the Queen Anne’s lace and ragweed. She scrubbed frantically at her wrists and hands.

“I think I got it all. I barely held it.”

Luke scraped the would-be bouquet from the floor; he was not allergic to the annoying weed. Then he bundled the stuff together and stalked toward the door. “So much for romance,” he muttered.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Rose called with a smile.

He laughed as he went outside with the offending gift, then returned to wash his hands at the sink. She caught his arm and pulled him to a set of rockers in the living room.

“Everyone’s gone to bed, but I wanted to show you the coloring pages Ally’s been sending over from the Ebersols’ house.” She opened several wildly colored scenes, and he nodded.

“Nice.”

“You’re not getting it.” She poked his ribs. “Her clouds aren’t crying anymore.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice—but wait. I thought the clouds were crying for her daddy?”

Rose shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe just for a sense of home or”—she blinked her green cat’s eyes at him—“or community.”

He reached over, and with one hand pulled her easily onto his lap. He nuzzled her throat cheerfully until she laughed and tried to push him away.

“Luke!”

He was concentrating on her hair, taking deep breaths of its heady scent. “Hmmm?”

She sighed and relaxed back against him. “Nothing.”

T
HE NEXT DAY WAS
F
RIDAY, AND
R
OSE WOKE WITH HER
mind set to keep her promise to Priscilla and go and pick up her dress for the wedding. But when she sat up in bed, it was to look with horror at her wrists and inner arms.

“Ach, no,”
she whispered aloud.

She dressed hurriedly, biting her lip in an effort to make no move to scratch, but the long wool sleeves of her dress were torture against the rash. She made her way to Priscilla’s in near tears from the sensation and knocked hurriedly at the back door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Rose? What’s wrong?” Priscilla looked like she was prepared for anything from an ostrich to an airplane landing, and Rose plastered a smile on her face.

“Nothing,” she managed. Then she could stand it no longer and burst into a spat of intense itching that made her jump and then wriggle with short-lived satisfaction.

But Priscilla’s mother must have recognized the outlandish movements, because she soon rooted in her herbal closet and sent Rose off with her attendant’s dress and some salve that she guaranteed would help the affliction.

Rose danced out onto the back porch, then gave in to another fit of intense itching, all the while praying silently that the salve would do something miraculous.

Chapter Twenty-Six

T
HE WEATHER HAD TAKEN ON A DISTINCT CHILL, THE
spiny spindles of tree limbs forming bare arms raised in supplication to the still bright sky.

That afternoon Rose opened the door to Luke, but knew that she probably looked distracted.

“Rose? Are you all right?” Luke took his hat off and stepped aside to reveal a thin
Englisch
man. “Rose, this is Jim. He was released yesterday and made his way out here. He was found not guilty.”

Rose snapped herself back from her meditations on not scratching. “
Ach
, that’s wonderful. Please come in.”

She held the door wider, but Luke shook his head. “We can’t. He’s got a car and is going to pick up Sylvia and the kids. They’re going to Colorado for a new start where his parents live.”

Rose bit her lip as the desire to scratch radiated along her arms, but she didn’t want Luke to know and feel bad. “That’s great,” she burst out, reaching to shake Jim’s hand.

And then she could stand it no longer and nearly doubled over with her efforts to get at her arms to her satisfaction. Luke groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Jim asked.

“Poison ivy,” she heard Luke mutter. “Rose, don’t scratch.”

“Don’t scratch!” She rounded on him, then smiled again at Jim, lowering her voice. “Don’t scratch? I’ll scratch you, Luke Lantz, if you don’t . . .”

Apparently, her betrothed knew when to beat a hasty retreat. She waved good-bye to a bemused Jim.