Emma Blooms At Last (25 page)

T
he sun brightened the horizon with pink-ribbon clouds, making the snow glisten on the trees. With the barn mucked out and the mules and horses fed, Jerome and the two older boys started back to the house to spend Christmas Day immersed in contemplation of Christ's birth with the rest of the family. Wyman had mentioned that he'd like to be in the house when the wee ones got up this morning, and Jerome had been happy to allow him that pleasure. As he stepped into the fragrant kitchen, filled with the aromas of a breakfast casserole, coffee, and cinnamon rolls, Jerome let the warmth of this home, and the love of his expanded family, seep into his chilled limbs.

“Merry Christmas, Aunt Amanda, and to you as well, Jemima,” he said as he and Eddie and Pete hung up their coats.

“And a blessed Christmas to you boys, too,” his great-aunt replied as she pulled a steaming pan from the oven.

“Jah, it's going to be a wonderful-gut day,” Amanda said. When she smiled so warmly at him, it felt like a hug.

Jerome remembered Christmases past, when he'd been an orphaned boy clinging to the affection Aunt Amanda and Uncle Atlee had shown him as he'd mourned his parents. He also recalled when he'd reached Pete's age, thinking that an entire day of Bible reading and quiet reflection was more than he could tolerate. It had been
impossible
for him to sit still, and even more unbearable to put up with baby Lizzie's fussy spells, so he'd looked for every excuse to slip outdoors. Even feeding the chickens and gathering eggs had seemed like entertainment on those endless Christmas Days. In his teenage frustration, he'd hurled a few of those eggs against the side of the barn just for the satisfaction of watching them splatter. Then, of course, he'd quickly cleaned them up and fibbed to Jemima about how some of her hens had taken the day off from laying.

Jerome smiled. It was a relief to be beyond such frustrations and wonderful that Amanda and her girls had moved past their grief and into a new family this year as well.

The rapid clatter of feet on the stairs announced that Simon and his three younger sisters were eager to greet Christmas. A loud
ohhhhhh!
rang in chorus around the front room.

“Baby Jesus!” Alice Ann cried. “Baby Jesus comed to our house for Kiss-mas!”

As Jerome peered out the kitchen doorway, Amanda and Jemima left the stove to join him. He slung his arms around their shoulders as they beheld Simon, Cora, and Dora gazing in wide-eyed wonder at the new baby in the manger. Vera and Lizzie smiled as they descended the stairs, while Pete and Eddie also seemed genuinely in awe of the Nativity set's newest addition.

Wyman rose from his armchair to join the children, maintaining an air of solemnity even as his lips twitched with a grin. “Jah, kids, here He is,” he said. He lifted Alice Ann to his shoulder before she could snatch up the fragile figurine in her eagerness.
“The Lord's come into our home, and when we let Him into our hearts, all will be right with the world.”

“I know!” Cora said. “Let's sing ‘Away in a Manger.'”

Dora clapped her hands. “And then ‘Silent Night,' even though it's daytime.”

As the little girls' voices swelled in the sweet, timeless melody, Simon joined in and so did Wyman and the four older kids. Jerome felt Amanda quiver as she leaned into him. She swiped at a tear and whispered, “Oh, isn't that a sight?”

“Jah, it is,” Jemima agreed in a breathy voice. “All the kids singing together like they've been doing it all their lives.”

Jerome hugged the two women, his heart swelling with the music that filled the front room. He resisted the urge to sing along, allowing the sweet younger voices to fill him with a sense of wondrous love.
This is what it's all about,
he thought.
And I hope someday it'll be my kids . . . Emma and I gathered with them, telling them the Christmas story and teaching them these dear old songs.

As the last notes of the first carol drifted, and Dora's clear voice took up “Silent Night,” sunbeams shone through the window where Jemima's Christmas cactus sat. Its waxy green branches were especially full of blooms this year, as though the plant also sensed this was a very special Christmas. The deep pink flowers swayed in the air current from the furnace, shimmering in the sunlight.

Jerome suddenly had an idea.

“Do I remember correctly that your Christmas cactus belonged to your mamm, Jemima?” he murmured.

“Jah, it goes way back to when she was about to marry,” she replied. “The young fellow who became my dat gave it to her as a Christmas gift when they were courting.”

Jerome's heart sped up as he carefully phrased his request. “It's probably not the right time to mess with that plant's roots,
but do you suppose we could put a section of it in one of Amanda's pots? I've been trying to come up with a gift for Emma, and—”

“Oh, what a wonderful idea!” Amanda exclaimed.

“You know, I've been meaning to transplant that poor root-bound cactus for the last couple of years,” Jemima said. She smiled up at him, her wrinkled face alight. “It's not the best time, like you say, but I think the plant will forgive us if we pot a starter for your Emma and then put the rest of it in a bigger container. I'd be pleased for her to have it.”

What better blessing and benediction could he hope for? Jerome kissed Jemima's temple, his pulse thrumming with the rightness of the idea. “Denki, Aunts,” he murmured. “I can't wait to see her eyes light up tomorrow when I give it to her.”

*   *   *

T
he next morning was dawning cold and clear as Wyman, Simon, Eddie, and Pete did the chores. Wyman took deep satisfaction in spending this time with his boys before the Grabers arrived later that morning. He shared a special kinship with his three sons as he watched Eddie and Pete growing toward manhood while Simon was leaving his early childhood behind, getting ready to start school next fall.

“You boys all did a fine job of observing our quiet, worshipful time yesterday,” Wyman said. He poured a bucket of water into one of the troughs, smiling as his youngest son hefted a heavy bucket of feed. “What did you like best about our Christmas, Simon?”

Simon's eyes sparkled in the dimness of the barn. “It was
cool
that Baby Jesus showed up just in time,” he replied. “And it was a better Christmas than last year because I had Cora and Dora to play with—and because we have a new mamm.”

“Jah, those are gifts we're all enjoying this season,” Wyman agreed.

“Even if they're all about
girls
,” Pete teased his little brother.

They all laughed at that observation as they kept working. “And how about you, Pete? What have you liked best?” Wyman asked. “I for one am truly thankful that you're home with us instead of on that cattle ranch in Kansas you mentioned.”

Pete let out a short laugh as he untied another bale of straw. “Well, the Christmas Eve program came out better than I thought, considering how Lizzie and Fannie Lehman kept bossing me about how to paint those backdrops after I built them.”

“Your scenery really looked gut,” Eddie remarked. “You've got a fine eye and a steady hand for the detail work.”

Wyman caught the satisfaction on Pete's face. “And how about you, Eddie? You've had a busy season, what with painting and clerking in the mercantile.”

“While I'm grateful that Sam gave me the job,” Eddie said, “there's no place like home, far as spending time with regular folks. The Lambrights are fine, fun people—”

“Especially Gail?” Pete teased.

“But living with Preacher Sam in a house full of women is another thing altogether,” Eddie went on with a chuckle. Then he focused on his father. “If my painting business does well, I want James to build me an enclosed wagon big enough to hold my equipment, with a built-in bunk for when I'm working a distance from home.”

Wyman's eyebrows rose. His son seemed awfully young to be living on the road, yet he didn't want to discourage such a forward-thinking idea. “Start saving up your money for that,” he replied. “I appreciate how all you kids have been pitching in to help pay the family bills this winter—”

The ringing of the phone on the barn wall made all of them look up. Simon raced over to grab the receiver before the message machine kicked on. “Hello? This is Simon Brubaker . . . Okay, Dat's right here. Just a minute, please.”

When Simon thrust the receiver in his direction, Wyman set down his water bucket. “You did a nice job of answering that, Son,” he said. No doubt Amanda and the older girls had been coaching him on his telephone etiquette.

The boy pressed the receiver against his coat. “It's Reece Weaver, Dat. He sounds kinda . . . jumpy.”

Jumpy.
And wasn't
that
an interesting observation from a five-year-old?

“Jah, Reece.” Wyman mentally prepared himself for whatever his contractor had in mind, calling so early in the morning—and on Second Christmas, too, as though he'd forgotten that Plain people celebrated it. “Gut morning, and merry Christmas to you.”

“It'd be a lot merrier if you'd tell that television reporter to
back off
,” Reece replied. “I can't believe you're joining in on that
farce
, Wyman.”

Wyman considered his response. He wanted a fair shake from this contractor, but he was also setting an example for his boys. “When I tell the farmers who bring their grain to my elevator what I'm going to charge them for drying their corn, and what I'll pay them when I sell their crops,” he began, “I stand by my agreement. I expect nothing different from you, Reece.”

“What if I have your elevator finished by the end of the year? And consider your account paid in full?” Weaver shot back. “Would you get that Calloway fellow—and that Clearwater attorney—off my case?”

“I'd have to see that to believe it,” Wyman replied. “Seems you have
several
customers awaiting completion on their jobs, which date back before mine. There's no way you can get to them all by the end of this week—nor could you do a gut job on my elevator in just six days.”

“You
saw
that list?” Reece demanded shrilly. “I'm going to
sue
that Lock fellow for—”

“Those names are a matter of public record,” Wyman interrupted firmly. He was
so
glad he and Ray had seen the attorney before Reece called him this morning. “Seems to me your time would be better spent making gut on your construction projects rather than taking Graham Lock to court. You're right about one thing, though,” he added. “I'm not paying you another dime until my elevator's completed, and then I'll only give you the balance of what we originally agreed to. No more surprise fees.”

Wyman sighed as Reece ranted for a few moments more. “Tell you what,” he said when he could get a word in edgewise. “Ray and Tyler and I will be at the site Tuesday morning with the reporter. If you want to look like a more reputable contractor, be there with your construction crew. The way I understand it, Cole Calloway will keep following your progress until every one of the fellows on his list is satisfied,” he insisted. “If you fall short, thousands of people will know about it. It's the sort of accountability you should have been showing all along, Reece—just like your dat taught you when he was bringing you into the business.”

The silence on the line suggested that Reece was finally listening, taking him seriously now.

“After all,” Wyman went on calmly, “we agreed to have my elevator finished in the
spring
. I expect your top-quality work rather than a shoddy job done in a hurry to get Calloway off your case, as you put it. We're talking about sophisticated mechanical and technical equipment that has to be properly installed. My business will go down the drain just like yours has if I'm constantly shutting down for repairs.”

Wyman paused again, letting Reece absorb what he was saying. His three sons had stopped working to follow this conversation closely, as well they should. “This might be just another job to you, but my family's welfare is riding on this project,” he continued. “If you can't properly complete my elevator, I want most of
my money back and I'll get another contractor. But I won't let you off the hook, Reece. Nobody wins if you don't come through with what you promised.”

A long sigh came over the phone line. “Stay with me, all right? I'll see you Tuesday.”

“All right. We'll go from there.”

As he hung up, Wyman took a deep breath to settle his nerves. Confrontation and disagreement went against his nature and his religion. But at least now Reece was facing the consequences of his unethical behavior.

“I won't belabor the point,” he said to his boys, “but we reap what we sow. If you're ever tempted to do less than your best work, or to cheat people out of their money with false promises, I hope you'll think back to how Reece Weaver has affected our family. And if you realize someone's taking advantage of you, I hope you'll stand up to him a lot quicker than I did.”

Wyman smiled at Eddie, Pete, and Simon. “End of sermon. Let's finish up here and go in for breakfast,” he said in a lighter voice. “I'm ready to have some fun!”

“And open presents!” Simon exclaimed. “I can't wait another minute!”

When he got inside, Wyman wasn't surprised to find all the girls in the kitchen, eager to enjoy their Second Christmas celebration. Even Jemima was in a fine mood as she helped Amanda, Vera, and Lizzie set out steaming bowls of hash browns, sliced smoked sausages, scrambled eggs, onions and green peppers, and cheese sauce for making breakfast haystacks. After the blessing, Wyman took particular pleasure in watching the kids dig into their food—all of them healthy and so much happier than they'd been last year at this time.