Emma Blooms At Last (16 page)

M
onday morning, Abby focused on the holly-print tablecloth she was hemming, pumping the machine's treadle in her usual steady rhythm. While living in the Graber house was the right thing to do, it still felt
different
. Most days, by the time Emma and James had gone to work and Merle had finished his breakfast—and she'd cleaned up the kitchen by herself—she started her sewing more than an hour later than when she'd been single, working in her nook at the mercantile.

But what's an hour?
It's nothing, compared to what Merle, Emma, and James lost when Eunice died.

Abby opened another package of the cranberry red bias tape she was using to finish the tablecloth's edges. A banquet center on the other side of Clearwater had ordered eight of these long tablecloths, and she had two more to finish today so the banquet manager could pick them up by four o'clock. She was carefully lining up the hem and bias tape edges to begin sewing again, when a male voice interrupted her.

“Knock, knock.”

Abby glanced up. “Sam! And how are
you
this morning? Everything's all right at home, I hope?”

Her older brother gazed around her freshly painted sewing room. “Jah, the family's fine,” he replied. Then he chuckled. “This bright yellow almost calls for sunglasses. Eddie told me it was intense.”

Abby laughed. “It's more color than we're used to, jah, but it made James happy to choose it for me. Here, sit down.”

As she cleared the nearest chair, which held her sewing notions for the tablecloths, Abby's thoughts spun. Why had Sam come to the Graber house and then all the way upstairs to speak with her? She couldn't recall him
ever
going up to her Stitch in Time nook at the store for the sake of conversation.

“Two things,” Sam said as he perched on the wooden chair. He held her gaze, as though figuring out how to express his thoughts. “First, Barbara and I would like you and James to come for dinner tomorrow night—and of course we want Merle and Emma to join us, too,” he added quickly. “It's a little party so we can give you our wedding gift, knowing how your weekends are busy with trips for a while.”

“My word, Sam, after all you've already given us, what with providing the wedding feast and preaching for us, and—”

“All part of the package,” Sam insisted. His smile looked tired, but his eyes sparkled. “We wanted to set aside time to celebrate properly, with just close family. I—I think you and James will really like what we chose for your gift.”

And wasn't
that
an interesting thing for Sam to say? Abby noted how the lines around his eyes and the sides of his mouth seemed deeper. Was it her imagination, or had more salt and pepper crept into what had once been a deep brown beard?

“Abby, I've prayed long and hard about this,” he began in a
low voice, “but I see no way around it. Will you come back to work at the mercantile? To get me through the Christmas season?”

There it was, the plea she and Emma had predicted the day after she'd married James. But Abby swallowed her triumph: Sam had done some deep soul-searching before he'd come here with his hat in his hand. He was in dire straits at the store, or he wouldn't have made such a request. “So . . . things aren't going so gut? Emma's not working out?”

“Oh, Emma's pitching right in,” Sam replied. “She's keeping the ledger in gut order, and she's learning how to inventory the stock—everything I can possibly have her do in the workroom. I've wondered if she's not working too many hours, but she insists on coming back every afternoon after lunch.”

Abby nodded. Although Emma had mentioned that it took her mind a long time to wind down after she went to bed each evening, she seemed really pleased about taking on so many responsibilities for Sam. “What about Gail, then? Surely she's relieved that Emma's keeping your books, so she can be in the main store, helping customers.”

With a sigh, Sam leaned his elbows on his knees. “It's not just Gail's youth and inexperience—I knew about those things when I insisted that you leave,” he admitted. “We've got more business than ever this holiday season, and—well, Gail's taken a shine to Eddie Brubaker.”

“Ah. So she's distracted.”

Sam let out a short laugh. “I knew you'd be difficult to replace, Abby, but Ruthie can help only after school, and our mamm can't handle so much time on her feet.”

“She's not getting any younger,” Abby agreed.

“And when Emma hired on, I didn't run any ads. So I'm caught shorthanded, with long lines at the cash register and a week and a half to go before Christmas.”

Abby considered this. While she loved working in the store and would help Sam in a heartbeat, the piles of fabric around her reminded her of all the sewing orders she had to finish before Christmas. “What-all do you want me to handle? Do you have a number of hours per day in mind?”

Sam looked flustered, as though he'd expected her immediate
yes
rather than questions. “How do you mean?”

“Will you want me waiting on folks?” Abby clarified. “I know how you—and the church—object to married women working in public places.”

“It was Vernon who suggested I ask you back through the end of the year, last week when he saw what a pickle I was in. So who am I to argue with the bishop?” Sam replied with a shrug. “I was hoping you'd come back full-time to help customers and run the cash register, as you did before. But with Christmas less than two weeks away, beggars can't be choosers.”

Never
had Abby anticipated such a sentiment coming from her brother. But she had her own responsibilities to consider these days, too. “What would you think if I put my sewing machine in the back room?” she asked cautiously. “Will I have a chance to work on my sewing orders when we don't have customers in the store?”

Sam's lips quirked. “These past several days, folks've been at the door first thing, and I've practically had to lock them out come closing time. English shoppers seem to keep coming in as long as they see lights on, regardless of the hours we've posted.”

Abby recalled Christmas business being that brisk in previous years as well. The stress on Sam's face reflected his additional duties as a new preacher, because there was no predicting when one of their district members would require his attention, or when Vernon Gingerich and Abe Nissley would need to meet about church business.

“I've got a lot of sewing orders to finish before Christmas,” Abby said, choosing her words carefully. “I'm also wondering how much time I should spend at the store because—well, with Emma working, Merle likes having me around more than he'll admit. It would be different if Eunice hadn't died.”

“Jah, this household would be pretty bleak without you here to liven up the conversation and help with the chores.” Sam looked torn. While he was truly concerned about his lifelong neighbors, he also had a very busy store to run.

“How about if I come in around ten o'clock and leave by four?”

The flicker of his eyebrows indicated that he'd hoped for more of her time.

“You know,” Abby said softly, “you were right—the
Ordnung
is right—about restricting a woman's working once she marries. After only a few weeks, my priorities have changed. My own preferences have shifted toward the back burner while I help with my new family responsibilities.”

Sam smiled tenderly and squeezed her knee. “Never thought I'd hear
you
admit that, Abby,” he teased, “although I didn't doubt that your perception would change when you became a wife. I believe God's bringing both of us to these realizations because He wants us to honor each other's best intentions, little sister. So jah—ten to four will be fine.”

Sam rose from his chair, giving her a grateful smile. “And denki for helping me out of this tight spot without saying
I told you so
—as Barbara and Mamm have been doing all along.”

“You've helped
me
out of many a tight spot, after all,” Abby pointed out as she stood to see him off. “I'll see you tomorrow morning, then—and we'll all come for supper tomorrow night. Emma and I will whip up something to bring for the meal.”

“Maybe fried pies with your pineapple and lemon filling?”

Abby kept her smile carefully in place as she considered how much time it would take to make fried pies this evening. “For you, Sam, I'll do that,” she replied, cherishing the boyish hopefulness that lit her older brother's face.

After he left, Abby resumed her seat at the treadle machine. She hadn't anticipated having such mixed feelings about returning to the Cedar Creek Mercantile—just as there had been a time when Sam wouldn't have admitted he needed her help. Working at the store had shaped her life since she'd been a teenager, when she'd learned how to keep books and deal with all sorts of customers. And the skills she'd acquired from Sam had led to her starting her Stitch in Time business, too.

To everything there is a season,
Abby reminded herself as her feet rocked the treadle again. Marriage had multiplied her responsibilities more than she'd ever imagined as a maidel, but as her husband's handsome face came to mind, Abby knew her union with James would be the source of blessings too abundant to count. Still, she wasn't sure how she'd find the time to complete her sewing orders and be a good wife, daughter-in-law, and friend while she relieved Sam's business burden.

With God's help, her efforts would be good enough.

A
s Emma sat at the Lambrights' table Tuesday evening, she sighed wearily. Her legs ached from climbing up and down the workroom ladder and standing on the hardwood floor all day to fill bags of baking supplies. She longed to relax in her nightgown and soak her feet in a tub of warm water, but with Vernon Gingerich, Eddie Brubaker, and everyone in Sam's family along with Dat and Abby and James gathered for dinner, laughing and talking, she tried her best to smile. This was a party for the newlyweds, after all.

“How are things going at the store now, Sam?” Vernon asked as he buttered a slice of bread. His face, set off by a soft, white beard, looked rosy from being out in the cold weather. “I'm pleased that Abby has limited her hours, and that Emma remains in the back room, but I wish this weren't going on while they're in mourning.”

“That's why I'm only working until Christmas,” Abby pointed out.

“That's the plan, anyway,” Sam agreed.

The bishop nodded. “And how are
you
getting along, Emma?” He gazed at her with blue eyes that assessed her warmly. “Sam tells me you've gone above and beyond, as far as keeping up his ledger and working more hours than he'd expected.”

“I like the work just fine, jah,” Emma replied. “It—it keeps me from missing Mamm so much, I think.”

But you've had plenty of time to kick yourself for not kissing Jerome the other night,
she thought as the conversation continued around her.
Such a sociable fellow, so accustomed to having much prettier girls playing up to him, will soon tire of a timid girl who rejects his affection.

Emma took another bite of pork roast, hoping no one would notice how exhausted she was and how her mood was sinking along with her energy level. Only two days had passed since she and Jerome had been gliding across moonlit snow-covered pastures, laughing together, yet she couldn't seem to summon the same carefree mind-set she'd enjoyed on Saturday night . . . some of the happiest hours of her life.

Why haven't I heard from him? Why didn't he stop by Sunday on his way back from taking the Wengerds home to Queen City?

That was the real issue, wasn't it? And while it was foolish to fault Jerome for not calling her, Emma sighed. The sound of his voice, the reassurance that he really did want to take her out—and court her—would be so sweet, after all these years of being a homebody who didn't go out on dates. And a phone call would dispel the more upsetting moments of her weekend at the Brubaker place, too. Dozens of times during the past couple of nights when she couldn't fall asleep, Emma had replayed that brazen kiss she'd witnessed in Amanda's workroom, and recalled Bess Wengerd's scornful words afterward.

What could a handsome man like Jerome Lambright possibly see in a mouse like you, Emma Graber?

“Are you all right, Emma? You've hardly touched your supper.”

Emma jumped when Treva's question, and the warmth of her hand, interrupted her woolgathering. “Jah, I just—I'm
fine
,” she stammered, putting a smile on her face. “It's a wonderful-gut dinner. And it was awfully nice of you to include us in the invitation.”

Everyone at the table was looking at her. Had someone asked her a question and she'd missed it, lost in her thoughts?

After an awkward silence, Vernon leaned forward to focus on her dat. “And how are you doing on these snowy days, Merle—especially with Abby and Emma both working in the store now?” he asked in his resonant voice. “After I lost my Dorothea, I wandered lost from one day into the next for a while.”

Her father nodded in appreciation, and then his face lit up with boyish glee. “This past Saturday, Emma and I—”

Emma coughed loudly, staring at Dat so he wouldn't reveal their secret trip to the Brubakers' in front of Abby and James. He'd been particularly forgetful the past couple of evenings, but he stopped talking when he realized why Emma was staring at him.

“What I mean to say,” Dat went on, “is that Emma and I are—well, we're still getting cards and calls from friends who wish us well. It's wonderful to have James and Abby living with us now, but Emma's been my special blessing these past three weeks. A real comfort, she is. Denki for asking, Vernon.”

Emma blinked. Dat had talked as though she'd been at home rather than working, and he hadn't mentioned that he'd been spending some time in the carriage shop with James, either, but he'd kept their weekend activities a secret. There was no telling how his mind worked.

“Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you,” Vernon remarked kindly. “You folks are at the top of my daily prayer list—and would you look at these goodies!” he exclaimed when Barbara handed him the tray from the sideboard. As he
studied all the different cookies, fried pies, and bars on the plate, he flashed Eddie a teasing smile. “I'd best limit myself to one or two so our painter will have enough to sustain his energy on the job. How's it going at the mercantile, son?”

Eddie chuckled. “I've finished the upper level. What with so many shoppers in the store now, emptying the shelves and shifting them around are more of a challenge.”

“And what a difference the fresh walls make. I didn't realize how dingy the store had gotten,” Sam remarked to the bishop. Then he, too, smiled at Eddie. “It would probably be best if you took the next couple weeks off and resumed your painting after the first of the year. Easier for you and the customers as well.”

Vernon was following this conversation with genuine interest. “Seems like you're off to a gut start on a career you seemed well-suited for, son.”

“Jah, I've lined up a lot of other jobs with folks who've seen me painting while they shop.” Eddie paused as the cookie tray came to him. “Hmm . . . are these your brownies with the peppermint patties in them, Gail?”

Gail's face turned a telltale pink. “They are. But Abby brought the fried pies, and the lemon bars are Emma's, and Ruthie made the sugar cookies. You can't help but find something you like there, Edward.”

Edward!
Emma had never heard anyone use his full name. The two young people had been stealing glances at each other all during supper, flirting so effortlessly. Why was it so difficult for her to believe Jerome wanted to spend his time with her? After all, only a couple of days had passed since she'd heard from him. He did have mules to train and other work to do around the farm.

After the meal, Emma went immediately to the sink to run the water, for washing dishes would keep her more alert and less likely to wonder about Jerome. She was glad that Treva, Barbara,
and the girls were having a lively conversation about what to serve for the Christmas meals rather than paying any attention to
her
. Emma washed the dishes as quickly as she could. The faster they got through this redding up, and then the gift opening, the sooner they'd head home. She longed to fall into bed and get some rest. Tomorrow would be another busy, tiring day at the store because it seemed no matter how many bags she filled with jimmies, noodles, rolled oats, and other staples, the store shelves needed to be restocked by closing time.

When the kitchen was spotless, the women joined the fellows in Sam's front room. Two large boxes sat beside the sofa, where Barbara encouraged Abby and James to sit. “We hope you'll enjoy this gift,” she said as she smiled at the bishop. “Vernon went in on it with us—”

“And I was tickled when the idea for it came up at your wedding,” Vernon chimed in. “It's useful and beautiful—and something we're sure you don't already have!”

The newlyweds laughed together. “We're accumulating quite a pile of gifts,” Abby said as she pulled something from the box nearest her end of the couch.

James's eyes widened as Abby removed the newspaper that was wrapped around it. “Now that's a fine-looking mug!”

“And these colors!” Abby said as she turned the mug this way and that. “I've never seen dishes with a reddish brown border bleeding into a deep blue center.”

“Care to guess who made them?” Sam asked. “We're amazed she completed them so quickly.”

Abby's eyes widened as she unwrapped a matching cereal bowl. “Is this Amanda's new style of pottery? Oh, what a gift you've given us!”

“Denki so much,” James added as he unwrapped a serving bowl. “It'll be a treat to use these dishes and think of the friend who made them for us!”

“Jah, we won't be saving these for special occasions,” Abby said as she unwrapped a dinner plate. “Look how sturdy they are—and every piece a little different because of the way the border blends into the center.”

Barbara nodded as she looked on from her rocking chair. “You've got sixteen place settings plus serving pieces, so if you want to keep the rest of them packed until you get them home—”

“We'll unwrap the rest of them later tonight so we can use them right away,” James said. “This is a wonderful-gut present!”

Emma watched and listened with a rising sense of anxiety. Even though Jerome had told her Amanda was making the newlyweds a set of dishes, seeing
two big boxes of
them
sent her over the edge. “And just where do you plan to
put
them?” she blurted. “The cupboards are full of Mamm's dishes, and I—I want to use
those
!”

As the words spewed from her mouth, Emma knew she'd spoken from a selfish welling up of emotions that was fueled by her exhaustion. The Lambrights' front room rang with a stunned silence. Everyone stared at her as though she'd dashed one of the new dishes to the floor.

But didn't her feelings count for anything? She hadn't said a word when James had wanted the kitchen painted that glaring shade of yellow, but it was another thing entirely that he planned to clear out the cupboards without asking her.

“Of course Mamm intended for you to have her dishes.” Surprise and regret clouded James's expression as he gazed at Emma. “I didn't mean for you to think we'd get
rid
of anything—”

“And you know what?” Abby interrupted. “We can wait until you're ready to use these dishes Amanda made—or even wait until you marry someday. We didn't mean to upset you, Emma.”

Emma was ashamed of her outburst and her uncharitable attitude, but she wanted to be surrounded by familiar, beloved
belongings. Was that so wrong? She sighed, resting her head in her hands. If only she'd kept her mouth shut . . . If only she could go home and go to bed . . .

“This same situation came up at the Brubaker place, when Amanda and Jemima wanted to use some of their own kitchen equipment but Vera didn't,” Vernon recalled.

Before the bishop could elaborate, Dat sat forward in his armchair. “Jah, I remember that fuss between Wyman's daughter and Amanda, and I'll not have it repeated at our place,” he declared. “We've welcomed Abby into our home, and—except for using a room for her sewing—this is the first time she's asked for any adjustment on our part.”

“I'm so sorry,” Emma murmured. “I spoke out of turn without—”

“And I believe the real problem,” Vernon interrupted gently, “is that you haven't had nearly enough time to adjust to your mother's passing, dear Emma. You've been so busy helping Sam that you haven't allowed yourself to heal from your profound loss—and the rest of us haven't allowed you that time, either.”

While the bishop's words rang true, Emma was embarrassed that everyone in the room was watching her so closely. “There's that, jah, but I really do enjoy the work,” she protested in a tremulous voice. “I'm just tired from—”

“Too many hours in the store,” Sam finished her sentence. “While I truly appreciate the way you've taken over my bookkeeping, and you've been filling bags of our baking supplies and bulk foods so Gail can wait on the customers, I can tell you're worn out, Emma.”

“Working in the mercantile takes a lot of energy,” Abby joined in as she reached over to grasp Emma's hand. “That's why Sam suggested you could work mornings until you got accustomed to
spending so much time on your feet. You've done a wonderful-gut job, Emma. It's not your way to lash out, so I know you must be more exhausted than you're letting on.”

Emma chuckled sadly. “You've always made running the store look so easy, Abby. But jah, after these past two days of going up and down the workroom ladder, shifting bins and filling bags, I'm tired,” she admitted. “Really,
really
tired.”

After a few moments of considering the situation, Vernon leaned toward Emma in his armchair. His face was lit up with such compassion, such wisdom, that she couldn't look away from him.

“What if you did Sam's bookkeeping at home?” he asked. “Seems to me you could still be a big help, and meanwhile you'd be keeping your dat company—especially with Abby in the store for the next several days.”

Emma considered this. “Well, I've always worked on James's accounts at the kitchen table,” she remarked. “I could fill out Sam's order forms, too—and I'd be home to fix the meals that way. With both of us girls working yesterday, it was a rush to put something on the table for supper after Abby and I got home.”

“Works for me, having you home again,” Dat said with a grin. “Nobody wants to eat
my
cooking, and I was wondering if it might come to that.”

As everyone chuckled, Emma felt her shoulders relaxing. As much as she'd enjoyed taking on the challenge of working at the store, Vernon's solution made a lot of sense. She had proven to herself that she could do something besides look after her parents and the housekeeping chores, after all—and she would still be doing valuable work for Sam.

“There's our answer,” Sam said with a nod. “And the ledger's all caught up, so I don't want you coming over for the rest of this week's receipts until Friday, Emma. And I won't take any fussing about that.”