Rosemary Opens Her Heart: Home at Cedar Creek, Book Two (16 page)

Standing beside him, Preacher Abe Nissley nodded solemnly. “At such times as these,
we’re truly grateful to be a close-knit community bound by God’s love and compassion.
We’ll hold the service on Thursday morning, to allow time for the burial preparations.
I’m sure we’ll all visit about this during today’s common meal and see that Paul’s
family is well cared for.”

“Such a loss necessitates the selecting of a new preacher, too,” Vernon added, gazing
purposefully at the rows of men seated nearest him. “I ask you to prayerfully consider
the married men among us and have your suggestions ready for the preaching service
four weeks from today, on May twenty-first.”

The meeting ended, and as Abby entered the kitchen to help carry food, the women were
abuzz. Vernon Gingerich, Paul Bontrager, and Abe Nissley had all served the Cedar
Creek district for more than twenty-five years, so the younger folks among them couldn’t
recall when anyone else had been a minister, and they had never witnessed the drawing
of the lot. While serving the Lord and the Plain community was an honorable role,
it involved giving many selfless hours without pay, for the remainder of a preacher’s
life.

“I sure hope my Mervin’s not called to serve,” Bessie Mast fretted
as she cut a chocolate cake. “He’s getting so he can barely keep up with the farm.”

“Jah, preaching doesn’t come easy to some fellows, either,” Nell Coblentz remarked.
“I can’t see my Amos standing in front of everybody like he knows what he’s talking
about. He was born to be a carpenter, for sure and for certain.”

“Could be the lot’ll fall to a younger fellow,” Lois Yutzy speculated as she took
platters of sandwiches from her refrigerator. “We have a promising crop of men married
only a few years. But we’ve watched them grow up here, and we’ve trusted them all
along.”

“Jah, like Mose Hartzler or Carl Byler, neither of them thirty yet,” Adah Ropp said
in a thoughtful tone. “My Jonny’s married now, but I don’t expect anybody considers
him ready to take on the ministry, considering how he drove cars and lived amongst
English before he hitched up with Zanna.”

Laughter rippled among the women—except for Hannah Hartzler and Marian Byler. Neither
woman relished the thought of her husband being called away from his businesses or
his young family. Mose Hartzler was a chimney sweep and owned a thriving orchard,
while Carl Byler did a lot of custom farming for elderly men who couldn’t handle the
heavy labor and equipment any longer.

“There’s Zeke Detweiler, too,” Eunice Graber remarked as she repositioned her thick
eyeglasses. “And we can’t none of us forget how Sam Lambright handled all the trials
and tribulations of Zanna running off and leaving my boy, James—and how he stopped
us all from squabbling at each other, too. Fine man, Sam is.”

Abby smiled to herself. It was easy for women like Adah and Eunice to recommend fellows
from other families when it was unlikely their husbands or sons would be up for consideration.
She glanced across the kitchen at Barbara, who raised her eyebrows in concern. Everyone
in the Lambright family—indeed, everyone in town—knew about the long hours Sam devoted
to running the Cedar Creek Mercantile.

“While we believe preachers are nominated for service by the people and chosen by
God himself,” Sam’s wife said quietly, “I wouldn’t want to think about my husband
spending his time and energy on being a minister while he’s keeping up with the store.
He’ll collapse, because he’ll not take time for any sleep.”

The women scattered then, carrying bowls of slaw and cut pies to the tables, which
the men had set up in the front room. As they moved in and out of the kitchen, however,
their talk continued. “Too bad James Graber’s not married,” Lois Yutzy remarked. “Now,
there’s a fellow who knows how to deal with disappointment and how to forgive. Fine
man, James is.”

“And there’s your Ezra, too, Lois,” Eunice Graber piped up again. “He’s built up his
pallet-making business enough that he’s hired a lot of local fellows to keep it running.
A gut, steady man who starts a job and sees it through, Ezra is.”

Abby carried a platter of her fried pies to the front room. In the coming weeks, folks
would spend a lot of time speculating about the new preacher—as well they should.
Preacher Paul had been one of their spiritual leaders for nearly half his life, and
suggesting a handful of men worthy of replacing him, even though God made the final
choice, was one of the most serious responsibilities their district had faced in many
years.

As the older members sat down to eat for the first shift, their conversations were
mostly about Paul and recollections of times each of them had spent with him, or his
more memorable sermons. Many of these folks had kitchen cabinets, built-in bookcases,
and other carpentry projects that Paul had built for them over the years, and he was
mentioned with a lot of fondness and laughter.

And wasn’t it a fine thing, the way plans had fallen into place before all of Abby’s
fried pies had disappeared during the second shift? Beulah Mae Nissley arranged for
several of the women to provide side dishes for the funeral lunch. Barbara and her
three daughters planned to meet Adah Ropp and her two girls at the Bontrager
place to help Salome clean in preparation for the visitation, which would be held
at Paul’s house all day on Wednesday. Sam had men coming to set up tables in Treva’s
Greenhouse, as they had done for Zanna’s wedding, and to clear out the largest room
of the barn and bring in the pew benches for the large crowd they expected.

Abby glanced around the noisy front room in Lois’s home, grateful she lived among
such faithful friends. Everyone would take part in bidding Paul Bontrager farewell,
including the young folks. Phoebe, Gail, and Ruthie were nodding earnestly as they
talked with Emma and the Ropp girls, and Matt—

Abby stopped eating to watch her nephew. Matt had a curious smile on his face. He
was seated near Owen and Noah Coblentz and the Ropp brothers, as he usually was for
these meals, yet he appeared to be lost in thought while the other young men visited
around him. And wasn’t
that
interesting?

M
att filled the bucket feeder and watched his orphaned lambs suck milk from the oversized
nipples, but his mind was on another subject altogether. All during the common meal
he had itched to get home and call Titus Yutzy. Wouldn’t it be something if now that
his father had died, Perry Bontrager didn’t want to keep all of their pastureland?
It wasn’t his place—or the proper time—to ask Perry such a question, of course. But
all sorts of possibilities had crossed Matt’s mind while his friends had been discussing
which girls they wanted to drive home after tonight’s singing.

As he left the barn, Matt corralled his thoughts. While he intended to call and leave
a message for Titus, wasn’t it possible that Rosemary might answer the phone? He was
still disappointed that he wouldn’t be delivering rams to the Yutzy place, because
he had no idea how their property was laid out. How far was the phone shanty from
the house? Had Titus installed an extension in the barn? Some Amish farmers did that,
especially if they lived too far from neighbors to make sharing a phone practical.

He slipped inside the small white shanty located at the roadside in front of the Cedar
Creek Mercantile, directly across from James’s
carriage shop. His eyes widened: the red ten lit up on the phone meant that either
his family or the Grabers had received a lot of calls this weekend. Amish folks all
over the Midwest were just getting home from preaching services and the common meals
that followed, so it was unlikely that Plain callers had left so many messages in
the last few hours.

He itched to play the recordings, but instead he called Titus. With Rosemary’s smile
in mind, Matt dialed the number and waited for the
beep
after the recorded announcement. “Jah, Titus, it’s Matt Lambright from over in Cedar
Creek,” he said. “I thought you’d want to know that Preacher Paul Bontrager passed
on in his sleep last night. The funeral’s to be on Thursday,” he began earnestly.
“I mostly thought—since his place sits across the road from ours—that you might want
to see how Perry feels about letting you have some pastureland. What with him being
the only son and working full-time for James Graber, he might consider a rental agreement
if he doesn’t want to sell.”

Matt paused, hoping he hadn’t overstepped by passing along this news. Upsetting Perry
was not his intention. After all, if someone were to ask him about selling off a parcel
of Lambright property, he would refuse immediately. “You wanted to know about property
availability hereabouts, so there you have it,” he continued. “I hope you and your
family have had a gut Sunday. Bye now.”

His pulse thrummed. It seemed that opportunity might be knocking, and pretty loudly,
too. As much as Titus’s mood had lifted after the wedding, when they’d talked of sharing
some labor and business expenses, Matt felt as if he might be offering Ezra’s brother
a chance to return to his boyhood home…maybe giving him a whole new lease on life.

Curiosity won out then, and Matt pressed the Play button on the answering machine.
While he doubted folks had left so many messages for his dat with orders for the store,
it was possible that some of their out-of-town kin had been trying to reach them with
important
news. The first man’s accent sounded anything but Amish, however.

“I’m calling for James of Graber’s Custom Carriages,” he said in a businesslike drawl,
“in regards to an article about a carriage you built for Disney World. If you’d call
me back as soon as possible, Mr. Graber, I’d like to order some similar vehicles for
my horse-drawn tour business here in Memphis.”

Matt’s eyebrows rose. He played two more similar messages, and then the fourth recording
filled the shanty with a woman’s sophisticated voice. “Mr. Graber, I’m assuming you’ve
read the magazine article I sent you, which featured the carriage Miss America recently
rode,” she began. “It would be my privilege to interview you for an upcoming issue
of our publication. So many readers have called wanting to know more about you and
your carriage business. I can’t wait to speak with you!”

Matt scribbled the woman’s phone number below the previous three he’d taken down.
Aunt Abby had mentioned the magazine article with a photograph of the white princess
carriage, but who could have predicted this sort of response to it? He tore off the
scratch pad page and stepped outside to gaze across the road. The Grabers had returned
home from Lois and Ezra’s shortly after his family had, so he jogged across the blacktop
to speak with James. It wasn’t often he had such exciting news to share, and phone
messages like these certainly lightened a day otherwise filled with talk of Paul Bontrager’s
death.

He took the porch steps two at a time and pounded loudly on the Grabers’ front door.
If Eunice and Emma were in the kitchen and James wasn’t nearby, there was a chance
Merle would be napping in his recliner and wouldn’t hear him. Matt waited a moment
and knocked again, louder this time.

As footsteps came through the front room, a big grin overtook his face. Who wouldn’t
be happy for a friend whose hard work had resulted in so many calls to order specialty
carriages—plus a request
for an interview? It wasn’t the Plain way to boast about such accomplishments, but
didn’t it glorify God when folks outside of Cedar Creek acknowledged good work produced
by Amish hands?

The door swung open and Matt’s breath left him. “Emma! I—” He crushed the piece of
paper in his hand. Why hadn’t he figured Emma might answer the door? “If James is
around, I’ve got some news for him.”

When the hopeful smile fell from her face, Matt felt lower than an earthworm’s belly.
He hadn’t come here to make Emma feel bad, after all, and he hadn’t planned to discuss
how he’d ignored her at the wedding supper, either. But here she was, standing in
the doorway.

“Matt.” Her tone told him she’d be going after some answers. “I’m sorry if I did or
said something at Zanna’s wedding to upset you, or to make you think—”

After all the years he’d known her, such a difficult moment probably called for holding
her hands, but he didn’t have the heart to let these mismatched feelings continue
between them. “Emma, it wasn’t your fault,” he insisted. “I know how everybody’s saying
you and I would be a gut match, but—but that isn’t going to happen. I’m sorry.”

Emma’s face crumpled. Her breath escaped her like air leaking from a balloon. “Oh.”

Oh?
How did he respond to that? Wouldn’t it only complicate matters further if he elaborated
on his situation? “I can’t pretend to have feelings for you just because folks think
I should, Emma. That would be more cruel than telling you the truth, ain’t so?”

“So, what
I
think doesn’t matter?” She turned away, crossing her arms. “It’s because of that
Rosemary from Queen City, isn’t it?”