Emma Blooms At Last (14 page)

J
erome thought he'd been hearing things. Was that
Emma
accusing Bess of throwing herself at him? He wanted to shout hallelujah, because the one person whose opinion mattered had seen the Wengerd women for who they were: fortune hunters. These two females had nothing better to do than kiss up to him, thinking that if Bess couldn't lure him back with her looks, then Mabel would shame him into feeling sorry for their bereavement.

But Bess wasn't finished yet. “Seems to me the choice is
yours
, Jerome,” she said in a cloying voice. “You know we had a gut love between us—that God Himself brought us together. So why are you wasting your time with Emma?”

The two young women were now facing him—one a blue-eyed blonde and the other a compelling brunette all dressed in black—their arms crossed as they awaited his answer. He could only hope this agonizing moment would settle the situation once and for all.

Jerome cleared his throat. “God may have brought us together a couple of years ago, Bess,” he replied firmly, “but your mamm drove us apart. I saw that our marriage wouldn't stand a chance because of her interfering ways, so I ducked out. Not very nice of me, but there it is. The truth.”

Bess's eyes got as round as the full moon. Then her chin began to quiver. “Jerome, I can't believe you'd say such a thing about Mamma,” she wheedled. “It's you and I who'd be getting hitched—”

“Stop right there.” Jerome held out his hand. “I've said all I'm going to say, and my answer is
no
, Bess. So don't embarrass us both by playing any more games.”

Thank goodness she took the hint this time. As Bess left the pottery workroom, Jerome knew his rejection would come back to haunt him once Mabel heard what he'd done. But that didn't bother him. At long last, he was alone with Emma Graber, the way he'd hoped to be all day.

Here was a woman who could indeed speak her mind, with a strength he hadn't anticipated. Apparently Emma liked him more than she'd been letting on—or at least she refused to stand by and watch the Wengerds humiliate him.

“Denki, Emma,” he whispered.

Emma held his gaze, yet she appeared as dumbfounded as he about what had just happened. “You probably think I'm a buttinsky busybody, telling Bess—”

“Nothing's gained by tiptoeing around the fact that I'll never be happy with Bess,” Jerome insisted. “And I'm grateful that you saw through that kiss. I can't believe she'd stoop so low, which means she's getting . . . desperate. Sad, jah, but it's not a situation I'll be fixing.”

Emma's tremulous smile did funny, wonderful things to his insides. Jerome held out his hand and was gratified when she took hold of it.

“I used to want . . . I needed to hear—from you, rather than the gossips—about why you broke up with two other girls you were engaged to,” Emma said in a low voice. “It was worrisome, thinking you might walk out on
me
as well and—”

“Let's not put that cart before the horse.” Jerome tightened his hold on her hand, bringing it briefly to his lips. “I sincerely loved those girls, and I didn't take it lightly, walking out on them. Breaking my promises.”

Emma's brows flickered. Was that concern on her sweet face? Or maybe envy, because he'd confessed he'd been in love twice before?

Jerome didn't want to spoil his chances of getting to know her better, so he vowed to slow down . . . to allow a solid friendship to develop before they made any other assumptions. This time, he would look before he leaped. It was the only way Emma would allow him to win her affection. Even before she'd been in mourning, she'd been cautious about sharing herself, her feelings, her deepest dreams.

Maybe he could take a lesson there.

“How about that sleigh ride?” he asked. “It's a perfect moonlit evening, and I don't feel like staying around all these
ears
and
eyes
.”

Emma's smile was wistful and sweet. “Jah, I'd really like to go.”

Jerome had to hold himself back from kissing her out of sheer gratitude. He led her from the pottery room toward the kitchen, intending to slip out into the wondrous winter night without attracting any attention. But Jemima was taking muffins out of the oven and Simon was helping himself to a brownie from a platter on the counter.

“Where you going?” the boy asked hopefully. “Will you and Emma play outside in the snow with me?”

Jerome tousled the boy's mop of hair. “Not this time, sport. Emma and I are taking a sleigh ride.”

“Sleigh ride! In our dat's sleigh?” came a voice from under the kitchen table.

“Oh, but I'd love to ride tonight!” Dora and Cora popped up from where they'd been playing with Alice Ann, their eyes alight.

Jerome laughed. Why had he believed he could escape without these kids following his every move? “We'll all go for a sleigh ride sometime soon, I promise. But right now I'd like to be with Emma.”

“Ah, but Bess, you should be going along, too!” Mabel Wengerd called over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen. Her face looked taut, as though she'd pulled her hair back into an extra-tight bun. “All three of you young people can fit in the sleigh, and it'll keep everyone's intentions
honorable
, ain't so?”

Jerome reminded himself to be patient and to mind his mouth. “There's no one more honorable than Emma,” he said. “You'll just have to let the Lord be our chaperone and trust that He's in charge of all our lives. He'll take care of you as well, Mabel, if you believe in His goodness and mercy.”

He turned back toward Emma then, before anyone else could delay the ride he so badly wanted to share with her. “Shall we go?” he murmured. “I'm ready if you are.”

*   *   *

“
I
t's been way too long since I hitched up a sleigh,” Jerome said as he lightly clapped the reins on Sparky's back. “I don't think this one's seen the snow since Uncle Atlee passed, and that's a shame. Are you warm enough?”

Emma burrowed deeper beneath the quilts Jerome had draped over them. Now that she was settled on the plush old seat, leaning into Jerome as the sleigh tilted slightly on the downhill lane, she felt happier than she had in a long time. The full moon was
beaming down from a blue velvet sky dotted with diamond stars, making the snow-blanketed pastures glimmer all around them.

“I'm cozy. And I'm having a really gut time,” Emma replied with a contented sigh. “Night rides are the prettiest, especially now that the wind has died down.”

“Jah, it's a perfect evening,” Jerome replied. “I've been hoping for more time alone with you—well, since the day we went shopping, Emma.”

As she thought back to that day she'd spent trying to escape Jerome's attentions, Emma let herself relax . . . allowed the breeze from the accelerating sleigh to blow away her former objections to the handsome man who was driving it. The clip-clop of Sparky's hooves on the snow-packed road settled her heartbeat into its rhythm while the warmth they shared beneath the quilts soothed her after a day of surprising guests and revelations. “Denki for giving me another chance, Jerome,” she murmured. “You were right at the wedding. I've missed out on a lot of opportunities to go out and have
fun
.”

“Emma, it's
me
who's grateful for another chance,” he said. “I nearly fell out of my chair when the Wengerds showed up—”

“They
intended
to catch you off guard. They're a nervy pair, if you ask me.”

“But if you want to know anything else about why I walked out on Bess,” he continued in a heartfelt voice, “
please
ask me. I want to be totally honest with you, Emma. I want you to trust me, as a friend and . . . as a man looking to marry someday.”

Emma's heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She almost blurted an objection, saying it was too soon to speak of marriage, but then she caught herself. Most fellows wouldn't offer an explanation of their past romances, and she'd never figured Jerome for a man who could admit to his mistakes. Yet he'd proven that assumption wrong.

“No need to say another word about Bess and her mamm,” Emma assured him. “And if you don't want to dig up old bones about your other engagement, well, that's
your
business. Not mine.”

Jerome took the reins in one hand and slipped his other one beneath the quilts. When he found her hand, he grasped it . . . swallowed it up in his gloved grip, yet she no longer felt trapped. “The other girl didn't say so until I'd popped the question, but she wanted to join a liberal Mennonite fellowship,” he explained. “She wanted electricity in our new home and a car to drive. Even to a fun-loving fellow like me, that seemed like a slap in the face to Aunt Amanda, after the way she and Atlee took me in and raised me up in the Old Order ways.”

Emma smiled in the darkness. “You've never wanted a car?”

“Sure I have. What young fellow doesn't?” Jerome admitted. “But I couldn't afford a car in my rumspringa—and maybe that's why I got into mules,” he reflected aloud. “It's another form of transportation, after all. And since mules aren't as common as horses, it's a way to distinguish myself. I hope that doesn't sound prideful to you, Emma.”

It touched her that he valued her opinion about his livelihood. “James once told me he went into carriage making for the same reason,” Emma said. “And the custom carriages he's designed for amusement parks have set him apart from other rig builders, just as you've chosen a different path with your mules. Seems like a smart business decision,” she went on with a shrug. “Lots of fellows train horses, after all. No harm in offering a different draft animal—especially when you've got such a way with your mules.”

Jerome was regarding her with something akin to awe. “Why, Emma Graber,” he teased softly. “I've never heard you string together so many sentences at once—and all of them in my favor, too. I'm glad you feel that way.”

Emma's cheeks prickled. She
had
nattered on and on, hadn't she? Yet now that she'd heard Jerome's explanation of his broken relationships, her reservations seemed to be slipping away. Why, for these past several minutes, watching the pristine snow-blanketed pastures go by, she'd even forgotten her sorrow . . . forgotten that she was grieving Mamm's passing.

Mamm adored Jerome! She's probably smiling down on you right now!

When the sleigh hit a bump, Emma let out a whoop and laughed out loud.

Jerome's whoop mingled with hers in the frosty air. “I like the sound of your laughter, sweetie,” he said. “If I'm going too fast—”

“Don't slow down! This is—” Emma closed her eyes, trying to think of exactly the right word to describe how she felt. “It's exhilarating. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun.”

Jerome scooted against her, still holding her hand. “I'm really glad to hear that, Emma,” he replied. “I was a little worried about you yesterday, when you were so tired after your week at the mercantile.”

“I'll settle into the routine,” she assured him as she gazed into his dark eyes. “I really have enjoyed helping Sam and learning so many things about running the store. And I'll sleep gut tonight after getting all this fresh air, no doubt.”

Emma nipped her lip, unable to look away from Jerome's intense gaze. Should she share one of the main reasons she'd taken the job? They were having such a good time, yet this sleigh ride was the only opportunity they would have to talk without several other people around them—and she certainly didn't want to discuss her personal feelings where the Wengerd women might overhear them.

“I'm working in the store partly because I like to feel useful and partly because when you said I needed to get out more, I knew
it was true,” she admitted. “You must think I've led a sheltered, limited life while I've looked after my parents.”

“Oh, Emma, not at all.” Jerome tugged on the reins, guiding the sleigh to a complete stop on the shoulder of the road. Snow-laced evergreens whispered beside them as his gloved hand tightened around hers. “I've always admired your caring ways, and I suspect your dat would be lost without you, now that your mamm's passed. I think you're a loving daughter—a wonderful woman—
just the way you are
, Emma. But if you enjoy working in the store, that's a gut thing, too. I bet it helps you pass the time.”

Emma's heart raced. Jerome understood her needs better than she'd anticipated. His expression suggested he might have something else on his mind as well, and she told herself she would
not
react by skittering away from him as she had in the past.

“While we've got this time alone, I want to tell you something I've not mentioned to anybody else, all right?” His smile was only inches from her face, and in the moonlight he looked a little bit nervous. “I—I'm taking my instruction to join the church.”

“Jerome, why—that's so gut to hear!” Emma gripped his hand beneath the quilts. “I never really figured you for a fence jumper.”

“Denki for saying that.” Jerome let out the breath he'd been holding. “After all the times you've tried to avoid me, I got to thinking that a woman of faith like yourself might have
reason
to run the other way. I've been going to church all my life, living our Old Order beliefs, after all, so it's high time I committed.”

Emma felt his gaze pulling her in, holding her on a deeper level. In all the years she'd spent wishing Matt Lambright would realize she existed, she'd missed the chance to talk this seriously with a man.
A woman of faith
, Jerome had called her—even after all the times she'd scurried away from him, expressing doubts about everything from wedding presents to quilting at the Brubakers' because he'd be around all day.