Emma Blooms At Last (19 page)

But stewing over the past wouldn't accomplish anything. After he and Jerome mucked out the stalls, they went back to the house. He'd never had to deal with the issue of a runaway child before, so he hoped other family members would have helpful suggestions. “Anybody know where Pete might be?” he asked in the calmest voice he could muster. “Looks like he took off on Blackie sometime during the night.”

He realized then that everyone in the kitchen was very quiet. Jemima's brow was furrowed as she took the skillet of bacon from the stove burner. The younger kids began to chatter about all manner of places to look, as though Pete were merely playing hide-and-seek. Vera nipped her lip as she handed him a folded piece of notebook paper. “This was under my door this morning,” she murmured.

When Wyman opened the paper, Pete's message made his breath catch in his throat.
Heard about a job, so I'm off to check it out. Don't worry about me.
“As though we could just let him be out there somewhere without worrying,” he murmured as he passed the page to Jerome. Amanda came over to him, her face pale and her eyes wide.

“This isn't gut. And so close to Christmas,” she fretted. “Pete's been too quiet—too much to himself—ever since we moved here.”

“It's not like he buddies up to the boys at school,” Lizzie remarked with a frown, “so maybe he headed back to Clearwater.”

“We can go looking for him after breakfast!” Simon piped up.

“And on the way to Clearwater, maybe we should stop in Cedar Creek,” Vera suggested. “When Pete heard that Eddie was clerking in the store, he looked like he wanted to do that, too.”

“Sam'll be calling as soon as Pete gets there, if that's the case,” Jemima remarked as she put the bacon on a plate. “He'll not get far without
somebody
letting us know.”

“Unless he went someplace amongst English,” Lizzie said in a somber voice. “He's talked about trying that life, even though he has no clue about how to survive in their world.”

“He can't go far without any cash,” Jerome pointed out.

Jemima got a funny look on her face. She took a cocoa can from the drawer of the pie safe and popped the top. “My egg money's gone,” she said somberly. “I'd saved up nearly a hundred dollars, too.”

Scowling, Amanda quickly left the kitchen. When she returned, her crestfallen expression said as much as her words. “I had more than three hundred dollars in an old teapot in my workroom,” she rasped. “I—I can't believe Pete would
steal
 . . . unless he doesn't intend to come back. He could go quite a distance on that much money.”

Wyman's heart clutched. The money issue put a different spin on letting Pete tough it out until he came home hungry. He didn't think the kid would abandon his favorite horse in favor of a bus or a train—but then, he hadn't gauged
any
of his second son's reactions correctly, it seemed. “I think we'd better pray on it,” he murmured.

As the family members took their seats around the table and bowed their heads, Wyman asked God for guidance with a fervor he'd seldom needed. He felt so helpless . . . at a loss for answers. But he was the man of the family, and everyone would be looking to him for direction.

“After I drop Vera and Lizzie off this morning, I'll go out looking for him,” he announced when everyone had looked up again. “We've got to have faith that God's aware of Pete's circumstances and whereabouts and that He's working this situation out as a part of His plan—for Pete and for us as well.”

Wyman wished he felt more confident about
how
God was guiding his troubled son. Sometimes boys in their rumspringa took off—jobs or not—for parts unknown, but he didn't know of any thirteen-year-olds who'd run away from home. He wished he'd paid more attention, maybe been more sympathetic instead of so prone to lecture his lonely, left-out son . . .

After Wyman dropped Lizzie at the schoolhouse and Vera at Leon Schrock's place, he turned the rig toward Cedar Creek. Pete probably didn't realize that any responsible Plain adult would call the house as soon as folks hereabouts knew he'd run off. Wyman scanned the countryside as he drove, looking for any sign of a rider on a black horse, but the hour he spent on the road did nothing to soothe his concerns. When he got into Cedar Creek, neither Eddie nor Sam had heard from Pete, either.

“We'll keep an eye out,” Sam assured him. “Pete doesn't seem the type to venture out on his own.”

“I know it goes against our grain to get the police involved,” Wyman murmured, “but maybe I should let the sheriff know that Pete's run off.”

Sam shook his head. “As a dat, I understand your thinking, but as a preacher, I'm not in favor of that. It's not like Pete was kidnapped, and he left you a note about taking a job,” he pointed out. “Far better to let your Plain friends around the area know what's happened, because they're more likely to spot him, anyway. We'll keep this situation in our prayers, Wyman.”

“I told him not to get any wild ideas—to put up with school until he gets out next spring,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “He won't get far. Pete's not gut at thinking on his feet. And any money he makes burns a hole in his pocket, so he's basically broke.”

Wyman didn't have the heart to mention that Pete had stolen more than four hundred dollars from Amanda and Jemima. It was this theft that lay so heavily on his heart as he got back into his rig
and headed to Clearwater. All around the back roads he drove, stopping at every farmstead and getting the same surprised response from folks he'd known most of his life. Nobody could believe that shy, quiet Pete would disappear into the night.

The Fishers, too, said they would call the moment they heard of anyone spotting his son. “Pete's a gut boy,” Sally affirmed. “He's just ferhoodled by the changes in his life these past months. We'll keep him in our prayers, that he'll be back home soon.”

Wyman thanked them, hoping they were right. After a desperate morning on the road, he found it a welcome bright spot when Tyler found a Baby Jesus figurine on his computer. It wasn't the same as the one Alice Ann had dropped, but the size and style in the photo appeared close enough to complete their Nativity set without looking odd.

“This close to Christmas, there's no telling when it'll arrive—unless you want to pay for express shipping. Might run you twenty bucks or so,” Tyler remarked as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

Wyman shook his head. “Seems foolish to waste money I could use for other things. We'll keep our Nativity set displayed a little longer, if need be—extend our Advent and the time of waiting for Jesus. Having the new baby in the manger will be a nice finish for our Christmas season.” He counted out enough cash to cover the figurine's price, plus some more to cover the tax and standard shipping.

As he headed back to Bloomingdale, Wyman wondered if this was how it would be with Pete as well—
waiting
until he came home . . . wondering where he was and who he was with . . . or who would even consider hiring a thirteen-year-old kid for any kind of job.

When Wyman got back home, no one had heard anything about Pete. Reece Weaver hadn't returned his call, either. Advent, the season of longing and waiting and watching for a savior, took
on a whole new meaning as the day crawled by. In a week, they'd be celebrating Christ's birth, and then the next day was Second Christmas, the merrier of the holidays. But if his son hadn't returned home by then, there would be little joy in the household.

Wyman prayed that his family wouldn't spend this first Christmas together worrying about a lost sheep rather than rejoicing over the Lamb of God.

E
mma finished the border on the afghan she was crocheting for James and Abby and folded it on the sofa with a great sense of satisfaction. She sensed the newlyweds would love cuddling together beneath this coverlet of red, blue, purple, and green as much as she had enjoyed working with such bold colors. With a glance at Dat, who had drifted off in his recliner, she went into the kitchen to stir the pot of vegetable beef soup she was making for their noonday meal. As she looked out the window, Emma thought how bleak and gray this winter morning looked—until a buggy pulled around the carriage shop and up beside the house.

Her heart fluttered. She knew of only one fellow who hitched his rig to a black Percheron mule.

As Emma fetched her coat from the peg beside the door, she glanced into the front room. Dat was still snoozing beneath the copy of the
Budget
he'd been reading. Grinning from ear to ear,
she hurried out through the kitchen's back door. “Jerome! What a fine surprise!” she said as she slipped into her coat.

His face lit up. “Emma, it's gut to see you. I've been out looking for our Pete—”

“He's not come home yet?” Emma's smile faded. She stopped a few feet in front of Jerome, noting the concern etched around his dark eyes. “Wyman and Amanda must be beside themselves.”

“Jah, my aunt's been calling the folks around Bloomingdale since he went missing yesterday, and Wyman and I have been out looking again this morning,” he replied. Then his handsome face eased into a smile. “But I was also hoping to spend some time with
you
, Emma. I—I've missed you this week.”

“Oh my,” she murmured as her pulse sped up. “I keep thinking about our sleigh ride—”

“Jah, me, too,” Jerome interrupted as he grabbed her hands. “And I've almost called you a dozen times—”

“And I hope you didn't get the wrong idea when I didn't kiss you gut night,” Emma continued in a rush.

“But I didn't want James or Sam or anybody but you to hear my message,” Jerome went on in a breathy voice. Then he laughed, rubbing her bare hands between his gloved ones. “Seems we've both been saving up what we wanted to say, and it's all rushing out at once. So . . . you weren't upset because I wanted a kiss too soon? Or because I didn't stop on my way home from escorting the Wengerds back to Queen City?”

Emma pressed her lips into a line. All the frustrating circumstances he'd mentioned seemed petty now that he'd surprised her with a visit. “Well, I
did
wonder if you didn't stop because you were . . . disappointed in me.”

“Oh, Emmie-girl, how could I be disappointed in
you
?” Jerome wrapped his arms around her and swayed her from side to side before loosening his hold. “And yet here I go again, getting too close for your comfort, maybe.”

Emma gazed up into his shining eyes.
Emmie-girl
he'd called her—a nickname only Dat and James had ever used, but it sounded particularly nice when Jerome said it. “Well,” she said as her cheeks got hot, “if any of the fellows in James's shop happen to be looking out, we're giving them quite an eyeful, ain't so? How about some coffee? And we've got fried pies and lemon bars and—”

“Say no more! I love your lemon bars.”

When Jerome kept hold of her hand as they headed back to the house, Emma wasn't sure her feet were touching the ground. She'd felt restless these past couple of days since Sam and Vernon had insisted she work at home, yet now she was glad she'd been here when Jerome pulled in. “Dat's been napping,” she murmured as they entered the kitchen. “He'll be real glad to see you.”

“Before we rouse him, maybe I'll just stand here sniffing whatever smells so gut,” Jerome replied. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Soup with beef in it, jah?”

Emma chuckled at his ecstatic expression. “There's plenty for you, if you care to stay. Abby and James usually come home for dinner around twelve fifteen.”

“Denki, but I told Amanda I'd get back with a few odds and ends she wanted from the mercantile.” He opened his eyes and held her gaze. “So, do you miss working at the store, Emma? It's a shame Sam and Vernon made you quit, if you enjoyed what you were doing.”

Emma hung up their coats and went to the stove to stir the soup. “I'm still doing the work I like the most—the bookkeeping—and it's better for Dat if I'm home now that Abby's helping Sam through the Christmas season. And truth be told, I was getting . . . crabbier than I realized.” She stopped there, as Jerome didn't need to hear about the hissy fit she'd pitched about using Amanda's dishes rather than Mamm's.

“You were tired when you came to our place last weekend,” Jerome agreed as he came to stand beside her. “I suspect none of
us realize how much effort goes into running that store, because Sam and Abby just
do
it without any apparent effort. Starting any new job takes a lot of energy until you're used to it.”

“Denki for understanding that,” Emma murmured. She removed the snap-on top from the pan of goodies on the counter. When she gave Jerome a lemon bar, he took hold of her hand to guide the treat to his mouth.

He held her gaze as Emma held her breath. Standing this close to Jerome felt even more exhilarating than when she'd been sitting beneath the quilts with him in the sleigh. As he bit into the lemon bar and chewed, his smile delighted her.

“While I was all for you working in Sam's store if you wanted to,” Jerome murmured, “I'm old-fashioned enough to like it better that you're home again. It takes a lot of effort to keep a household running smoothly, too, and you've always made
that
seem effortless.”

Emma's brows rose. “I'd never call
you
old-fashioned, Jerome,” she protested, but then he put the unbitten side of the lemon bar to her lips. She took a bite, wondering where he was leading her with this quiet conversation . . . these unexpectedly intimate gestures.

“Isn't this nice? Just the two of us in the kitchen?” he asked as she chewed. “It's cozy here. Real homey. And it reminds me that while I tend to run off at the mouth and look before I leap—like when I almost spent a couple thousand bucks on a wedding gift—you go on quietly about your tasks with such a sense of purpose. When I'm with you, Emma, I feel so much more grounded and—and—”

Jerome stopped midsentence, lowering his lips toward hers.

Behind them, Dat chuckled. “Are my old eyes fooling me, or is Jerome Lambright standing at the stove with my daughter?”

Emma jumped away from Jerome. She'd been
this close
to kissing him, should've realized that Dat might interrupt them.

But Jerome didn't seem the least bit flustered. He turned to offer the cookie container to her father. “Merle, it's gut to see you,” he said with a chuckle. “You'd better have some of these lemon bars before I eat every last one of them.”

“I'm more in the mood for dunking some of Emma's gingersnaps in a mug of coffee,” he replied as he took a seat at the kitchen table. “She bakes them nice and crisp so they'll hold together.”

Jerome winked at Emma and joined her dat, placing the cookie pan on the table between them. His confident grin belonged to the fellow she'd been running from a few weeks ago, yet he'd mellowed. Even though Dat had startled her at the wrong moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to set mugs on the table for him and Jerome and to pour them fresh coffee from the percolator.
Cozy and homey, like Jerome said earlier. It's lucky for me that the two of them are gut friends.

Emma stirred the soup again while Jerome brought her father up to date about Pete's situation. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this visit from Jerome, yet he was making her feel very special.

“Could be Pete doesn't want to be found,” Dat remarked as he took a handful of gingersnaps. “And if the job he mentioned in his note didn't pan out, he could be hiding in barns or any number of places, not all that far away.”

Emma turned toward them, frowning. “But how would he eat? And stay warm on these cold nights?” she asked.

Jerome chose another lemon bar. “Pete left in the night, while everyone else was asleep, so he might've packed along some food.”

“You'd think folks would notice an extra horse in their barn, though,” Dat remarked matter-of-factly. “I'm betting Wyman gets word of him before the weekend's past. Pete'll either slip up and somebody'll catch him, or he'll head on back to Bloomingdale when he's tired of hiding. Then again,” Dat added, “Pete might be
miles away by now, with no intention of going home. A Bontrager kid I grew up with ran off like that.”

Emma blinked. For all her thoughts of how Dat might be losing touch, he was making astute observations—as he always seemed to do when he was with Jerome. It was too soon to be seriously thinking of marriage, yet the benefits of spending more time with Jerome seemed to be adding up for both her and her father. At least she didn't feel like running in the other direction when he flirted with her now.

Emma lowered the flame under the soup pot. While the men kept chatting, she went into the front room to fetch the afghan she'd finished. When she paused in the kitchen doorway with the coverlet made of blue, red, purple, and deep green granny squares, Jerome's expression made Emma hold her breath.

“And what've you got here?” he asked as he rose from the table. “The way those bold colors are held together with black reminds me of stained-glass windows you see in old churches. May I take a better look?”

Emma's heart danced. She had hoped Jerome would like her afghan, but she hadn't anticipated the intensity of his interest as he unfolded it so they could hold it between them. “I've been crocheting this for Abby and James's wedding gift—which has been a lot easier now that she's working in the store again,” Emma added.

“And they'll
love
it.” Jerome held her gaze for a moment. “Here's another reason I'm glad we didn't buy something on our shopping trip,” he continued. “Nothing in the stores compares to this beautiful gift you've made with your own hands, Emma. See there? You might've been hurrying past all the stuff I wanted to look at, but you were
right
about what Abby and James would rather receive.”

Emma blinked. Jerome had just put a new spin on their
awkward shopping trip. His difference in perspective made her feel better about that day, and it also cast a new light on his personality. Whereas she'd once considered him flashy and overconfident, Emma now saw a fellow who was trying to improve her perception of herself . . . a man who appreciated her quiet, reserved temperament.

After Jerome finished his coffee, he put on his coat, blowing Emma a kiss as he went outside to his rig.

“The more I'm around that fellow, the more I like him,” Dat said. “I'm glad Jerome's in it for the long haul and not giving up on you.”

Emma smiled to herself as she tucked the afghan into a trunk so Abby and James wouldn't see it. Once again Dat was spot-on with his observations—and she, too, was thinking Jerome's visit had done them both a world of good.

*   *   *

A
fter they'd eaten their noon meal and Abby and James had returned to work, Emma pawed through her bin of yarn. Over the years, she and Mamm had crocheted several projects, so surely she could do something useful with these partial skeins, especially now that Jerome had shown such an interest in her handiwork. When she unfolded the yellowed instruction sheet Mamm had used to make stocking caps for James and Dat, Emma felt as though she'd found buried treasure.

The perfect gift idea! Dat's poor old cap is hardly fit to wear to the barn.

Soon she was settled on the sofa with her feet up, forming row after circular row in navy blue—almost as though Mamm were sitting with her, passing a winter's afternoon beside the woodstove. By the time Abby came home at the end of the day, Emma was finishing off the final row of the cap.

“What do you think?” she asked as she held it up. “Dat needs
a new hat for these cold days, and I thought James could use one, too.”

Abby took the hat between her hands, looking it over. “You've crocheted all this since dinner? You've got flying fingers, Emma!”

“It's a simple pattern,” she pointed out. “Doesn't take much thought—”

“And it would make a gut gift for Jerome, too, ain't so?” Abby asked with a knowing grin. Then her eyes widened. “What if you were to make some of these in kids' colors to sell in the store? Folks would snap them up.”

Emma's eyebrows rose. It would be a nice change of pace to work with brighter colors. “Well,” she hedged, “if nobody buys my hats, I can always donate them to the mud auction next spring—”

“Ach, but you're silly sometimes,” Abby teased. “Haven't you noticed what English kids—even girls Gail's age—are wearing these days? Bright colored parkas with caps like these. Some of them have earflaps with braided pigtails on the ends, and some even have animal faces or big flowers on them. We've got patterns for those in the store. What do you think?”

“I think I'll make a quick trip to the mercantile!” Emma replied. “I need to fetch Sam's receipts for the week anyway, and crocheting hats will give me something to do while you and James go to Breckenridge for the weekend.”

Emma slipped into her coat and bonnet and crossed the snow-packed road. The mercantile's parking lot was jammed with cars and buggies, and when she stepped inside the store, she was amazed at the number of folks who'd come to Cedar Creek to shop. As she made her way toward the yard goods section, Emma paid close attention to what the kids and teenagers were wearing on their heads. To her surprise, even a few young men sported the kind of knitted hats with earflaps and pigtails that Abby had
mentioned—and none of the caps were in the dark, dull colors that filled her yarn bin.