Emma Blooms At Last (5 page)

Why was it no surprise that Simon was peeking from beneath his hands, watching the kids hide? Rather than disrupt their game by allowing his son to spot him, Wyman turned toward some fellows who were loudly congratulating Merle Graber on his son's marriage. “James looks mighty happy,” Titus Yutzy remarked.

“As well he might!” Merle crowed. “No finer girl in the world than our Abby, after all.”

“So now the countdown toward the grandkids begins,” Rudy Ropp remarked. The dairyman clapped James's dat on the back as Preacher Abe Nissley guffawed.

“As well as the countdown to when Sam informs Abby she'll no longer be clerking in the mercantile,” Abe added. “Won't be the same, shopping there without her greeting us from her upstairs sewing nook.”

Wyman considered this. Although it was a deeply ingrained Amish belief that wives should not work outside the home, Abe's Beulah Mae ran Mrs. Nissley's Kitchen and Rudy's Adah worked several days a week at the Fisher Cheese Factory near Clearwater. His Amanda made her pottery at home, however, so she would be on the premises for him and the kids—just as she'd earned the family's living at her wheel while taking care of her first husband during the illness that took his life.

As Amanda came out of the Lambright house, her expression rivaled the brilliant afternoon sunshine. Wyman's heart swelled as he went to meet her. His dear wife's outlook had improved so much since they'd moved into her farmhouse in Bloomingdale.
He was again reminded that God's hand had led them there—and that the Lord would guide his dealings with Reece Weaver, no matter how disastrous his financial situation seemed.

“Have I told you how your smile lights up my life?” he murmured as Amanda grabbed his hands.

Her grin widened. “Would you look at
this
?” she said in an excited whisper. “Barbara was in the kitchen putting more food in the oven, when Sam fetched his checkbook, and she ordered a set of pie plates, mixing bowls, and a couple of pitchers for her Phoebe's upcoming birthday,” she exclaimed. “Then Bessie Mast wanted some serving pieces, and Lois Yutzy ordered a salad bowl set for her sister—and she wants me to sell my work in Mother Yutzy's Oven! Then Sam said that when I had
time
, he wants another display of my pieces in the mercantile. I had to make a list to keep all my orders straight!”

She handed him a fistful of money and checks. Wyman's eyebrows rose as he made a quick count. “This is incredible,” he murmured. “You've got more than five hundred dollars here.”

“These are just down payments, Wyman,” she said earnestly. “When I complete the orders, we'll have that much more—plus what my new displays for Lois and Sam bring in later. And with Christmas coming, several other ladies in the kitchen said they'd be calling me with gift orders.”

Although this pottery money was a drop in the bucket compared to what he'd need to complete his grain elevator, her giddiness was contagious. And Wyman couldn't miss the way Amanda had said
we
.

“You'll need to buy clay and glazes,” he reminded her, “so I don't expect you to contribute to the household—”

“Phooey on that! I still have the cash from the pottery that sold in the mercantile before Uriah Schmucker smashed the rest of it.” Amanda grabbed Wyman's hands, crumpling the money
between them. She gazed up at him with her expressive eyes. “I can tell you're worried about making the money stretch until your elevator's up and running. And what with all the jars of food from your house and my garden this past summer, and the meat that's in our freezers, I want you to stop worrying
right now
. The Lord
will
provide, Wyman.”

Wyman thought his heart might fly out of his chest. While Amanda's pottery money would buy a lot of groceries, he still felt bad that his wife was handing over her income. He'd made a point of not discussing the finances with her after Reece's phone call . . . “So, what makes you think—”

Amanda's lips twitched. “You talk in your sleep, dear man—when you're not tossing and turning,” she said slyly. “So let's be grateful to God for this new opportunity, and to Lamar Lapp for being lenient as well. It'll all work out for us. Jah?”

As she playfully jabbed his chest with her finger, Wyman couldn't help but laugh out loud. How could he possibly argue with this determined woman as she gazed up at him with such joy and challenge on her pretty face? On impulse, he kissed her—and then he kissed her again, even as some of the older fellows across the yard hooted and whistled. “Yes, dear,” he teased.

“Louder.”

Wyman chortled. “Yes, Mrs. Brubaker,” he declared. “You and the preachers and the Lord seem to have me outvoted. Who am I to argue?”

“That's better. Now slip this money into your pocket,” she said breezily. “I'll get back to helping with the dinner so someone else can take a break.”

Wyman watched her practically
bounce
back to the greenhouse.
And who could've seen this coming?
he mused.
I came here feeling strung out and stretched too thin, and now I'm solid again.
Right with myself and the elevator situation, even though it's not nearly settled yet.

“Your bride looks mighty perky,” Mervin Mast called out as Wyman approached the fellows who were still chatting with Merle Graber. “So how's life treating you at your new place?”

“Couldn't be better,” he replied. And thanks to Amanda, he believed his life would improve beyond his wildest imagination.

“A
bby-girl, is this a dream, or are we really finally married?”

Abby sighed contentedly as James stood behind her at the kitchen counter on Friday morning. With his arms wrapped around her and his head resting on her shoulder, she was living out her own dreams after their months of courting—after the past several
years
, when she'd been in love with James Graber and he hadn't had a clue. “Jah, it's true,” she whispered. “For better or for worse, you're stuck with me now!”

“Stuck
on
you is more like it,” he teased as he turned her in his arms. “Much as I loved seeing all the family and friends who came to celebrate with us yesterday, I couldn't wait for them all to leave.”

As she gazed into her new husband's handsome face, Abby tingled with joy. Her maidenly worries about their first night together had evaporated like steam from fresh-baked bread. And even though Vernon Gingerich had preached about how love grew stronger and more resilient over the years of a good marriage, she
couldn't imagine feeling more
at one
with James than she did at this moment. “It was a long party and a short night,” she agreed, feeling somewhat weary from their big day. “But tonight we can catch up on our sleep.”

“Sleep?”
James countered. “How can I even
think
of dozing off with you beside me? It was wonderful-gut to be here in your little house, just the two of us, for our first night together.”

Abby's face prickled with warmth. “Let me rephrase that. Tonight we can get to bed earlier.”

“I like the sound of that, honey-girl,” he murmured as he gazed into her eyes. He kissed her then, as though he never wanted to let her go. “It would be nice to break with tradition and stay home, rather than leaving tomorrow morning—and these next several weekends—to collect our gifts. This nest is so cozy . . . I could slip back into our room right this minute . . .”

Abby returned his kisses until the teapot on the stove let out a shrill whistle. “We'd have Sam and the others pounding on the door if we did.” She filled the teapot and replaced its lid to let the bags steep, thrilled that James's feelings mirrored her own so closely. “We've got quite a lot of redding up to do today. You'd think, after all the weddings I've helped with this fall, I'd be used to how much
mess
comes with hosting nearly three hundred guests.”

“We'll have a lot of help—and for that, I'm grateful that our families live across the road from each other,” he said as he took two plates from the cabinet. “Are these fried pies on the counter for our breakfast, I hope? If they're your lemon-pineapple ones, you might not get any.”

Abby laughed as she opened the oven door. “You're the man of the house now, so I suppose you can have whatever you choose. But I just happen to have a pan of breakfast casserole here, all warm and full of cheese and bacon and onion and—”

James inhaled appreciatively. “Maybe I can have a fried pie for dessert, then. And when did you have time to put a casserole together?” he quizzed her. “These past few days you've been working in the store and sewing wedding dresses for your mamm and sister and Emma, not to mention making those fried pies for last night's supper.”

Abby shrugged. “Haven't you figured out that the women in your life just
do
these things as part and parcel of every day? Or did you think little angels came in and made the food appear with a flicker of their wings?” she teased.

“I know
you're
an angel. Does anything else really matter?”

Her heart stilled as she met his gaze. “Oh, James, you still say the sweetest things,” she whispered.

“You expect me to stop, now that we're married? I don't
think
so.” He glanced toward the window in the front room and sighed. “Looks like your brother and some of the others are already headed over to the greenhouse. Guess we'd better get moving, or they'll think we're slackers.”

While they quickly ate their breakfast, Abby couldn't stop smiling. As Cedar Creek's carriage maker and the only son in his family, James was anything but a slacker. And with such a kind, considerate man by her side, she anticipated a marriage that followed the idyllic scenes of her fondest daydreams. They dressed and stepped out into the brisk November morning just as the sun peeked over the horizon. Alongside Sam's tall white house, the plowed garden was bare now that the last of the pumpkins and winter squash had been picked. The red and golden leaves sparkled with a hint of frost. Down in the hilly pasture, along the cedar-lined creek, her nephew Matt's sheep were milling about in woolly clusters.

“Isn't that a picture?” Abby murmured. “I never tire of seeing those mama ewes and their wee ones.”

James grasped her hand and leaned close to murmur in her ear. “Someday
ewes
going to be a mama with wee ones,” he quipped.

Abby laughed and kissed his cheek. It was such a wonderful thing, to show her affection for her new husband in public now—but it didn't go unnoticed. A loud whoop came from Sam's front porch, where her nieces Gail and Ruthie were stepping outside.

“Two little lovebirds sitting in a tree,” twelve-year-old Ruthie sang out, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Tease me all you want,” Abby shot back. “One of these days, I hope
you
will be this happy.”

When they entered her mother's greenhouse, their neighbors' pleasant chitchat echoed in the high-ceilinged glass building. Sam and Matt were taking down the long tables. James's parents were helping Rosemary gather the soiled white tablecloths, while little Katie and Beth Ann were picking up litter from the floor. As James joined the men, Abby went over to help Emma sort the mountain of clean silverware that was piled on the counter.

“Gut morning, Mrs. Graber,” Emma murmured. “And how's the bride doing after her big day?”

“Couldn't be better.” Abby saw that her friend had started piles of clean knives, forks, and spoons, so she began placing them in their wooden cases. “I'm glad we have a wedding wagon in Cedar Creek, so we don't have to worry about returning all this silverware to women around town. And denki so much for all your help yesterday, Emma—even though you could've taken the day off to just be a member of the wedding party . . . along with Jerome.”

“I was happy to help,” Emma insisted, but then a shy smile twitched at her lips. “I'm going out with him tomorrow. It's not a date, exactly, but we have a . . . mutual mission.”

“Gut for you!” Abby was aware that Emma had been resisting
Jerome's attention, so this was welcome news. “Care to let me in on what you'll be doing?”

“Oh, just . . . going for a ride,” Emma replied. She glanced back to see how her parents were doing with the tablecloths. “A
lot
of folks asked me for ideas about wedding presents yesterday. What would you and James like? Or need?”

Abby shrugged. “I can't give you much of an answer, I'm afraid. What with my house being as full as it needs to be—”

“Jah, it's the same at our place,” Emma remarked. “It's hard to choose gifts for a couple that already has everything.”

Chuckling, Abby put the lid on a box filled with forks. “I set up housekeeping because I'd figured on staying a maidel for the rest of my life, running my Stitch in Time business while I helped Sam manage the store.”

“And your days at the mercantile are numbered, too, Abby,” Sam declared as he took down the table behind her and Emma. “I can't allow you to work there now that you're married—especially now that I'm a preacher. But you knew that, of course.”

Without turning from the counter, Abby kept stacking spoons in their wooden box. This was a subject she and James had already worked out between them. Even though she'd anticipated Sam's attitude—his insistence on following the
Ordnung
and Old Order ways—it stung her that he was bringing it up the day after the wedding. It sounded as though he expected her to move her sewing machine and supplies out of her upstairs nook
today
. “Preacher Abe's wife runs a restaurant,” she countered. “Beulah Mae deals with English and Plain customers, just like I do at the mercantile.”

“But she's finished raising her family,” Sam pointed out. “And while Abe doesn't let on, the income from his truck farm and orchard dribbles in pretty thin once the apple season's over. I've got a gut cash flow year-round, so I can't justify keeping you on.”

Oh, but his words hurt. Abby
loved
working in the store,
helping customers and making out the orders. She'd been restocking bulk baking ingredients and dry goods in the back room since she was younger than Ruthie. She'd been strategizing about this subject for a while now, so she tried another idea. “Barbara's still midwifing, so I thought—”

“Don't start with me on
that
subject,” Sam interrupted. “I've told her she's to cut back, but she's the only person in town with any medical expertise. Several women have insisted they'll not let anyone else assist with their babies, so . . . well, it doesn't sound fair, I know, but her birthing skills are more essential than your help at the mercantile.”

So that was the way of it? Abby nipped her lip, feeling more disappointment than she cared to admit. She made one last attempt to change her brother's mind. “Who will you hire to do the ordering and take the inventories?” she asked. “Now that you've assumed your preaching duties, you're not in the store most days until noon or—”

“My mind's made up, Abby. This will be your last week of working at the store. I'll depend upon Gail, of course, but I've begun looking for other reliable help as well.”

And whom might Sam find to replace her? Abby knew better than to pursue the subject any longer. What with Sam being her older brother, the owner of the store, and a district church leader, his decision overrode her protests on three counts. Emma patted her wrist in sympathy as the two of them finished boxing up the clean silverware. They loaded the wooden containers into a pull cart and then headed out the back door to where the big wedding wagon was parked. As Emma pulled the cart up the ramp into the wagon, Abby pushed from behind until they were inside.

“I'm sorry about your having to quit at the store, Abby,” Emma murmured. “It won't be the same, shopping without you there—and I know you'll miss it, too.”

Abby struggled with the lump in her throat. But what good would it do to be upset? She slung her arm gratefully around Emma's shoulder as they stood inside the shadowy wagon. “Denki for understanding about that,” she murmured. “What would I do without you?”

Emma slipped her arm around Abby's waist. “I'm glad you'll still be living here in Cedar Creek now that you're married, Abby. So many of our friends have moved away after hitching up with fellows from other districts.”

“Jah, weddings change things amongst friends,” she murmured. “It's a blessing to me that we're sisters now, Emma, and that we'll always have each other to turn to.”

“That's how I see it, too.” Emma squeezed her, and then they began fitting the cartons of silverware into the cabinets that were built into the wagon's walls. “And you know, we have a couple of spare rooms at our place where you can set up your Stitch in Time business. Sam couldn't object to that, as it would be no different from Rosemary baking her pies at home. And Mamm and Dat would be glad for your company during the day, too.”

Abby considered this as she slipped another case of silverware into a slot. “That's a gut thought. When I move out of the store's loft, I surely don't have room for all those sewing supplies at
my
tiny place.”

“We'd love it if you and James wanted to live with us, too,” Emma continued in a wistful voice. “But I can understand why it's special to have your own little hideaway. Mamm and Dat can be troublesome, what with their picking at each other and—”

“Your parents are
not
the reason we're living at my house, Emma,” Abby insisted. “And you know we'll be there the moment you need us, too. James and I never intended for you to have to watch over your folks all by yourself.”

“Jah, James says he'll be over every day to check on us.”

“And so will I,” Abby insisted in a burst of inspiration, “because—if it's okay with your folks—I've just now decided to move my Stitch in Time business into whichever room you'll let me have. That's a gut solution for all of us, Emma, and I appreciate your offer.”

Abby raised her eyebrows playfully, considering another issue she suspected was on her best friend's mind. “So if I'll be working at the house, you'll have no excuse not to go out with Jerome, jah? He had eyes only for you yesterday.”

Emma let out an exasperated sigh. “He and I had a
chat
about that,” she blurted. “He's a nice enough fellow, I suppose, but sometimes
he
believes he's pretty special, too. I'm not sure
what
to think of him, truth be told.”

Abby closed the cabinet, sensing she'd said enough about Jerome. She and James had agreed to let the couple work things out between themselves. “Well, now that we've packed away the silverware, the fellows can load the tables and folding chairs. The wedding wagon'll be ready for whoever's next to get hitched, once we wash all those tablecloths.”

“No time like the present,” Emma agreed. “Or had you figured on being at the mercantile when Sam reopens it this afternoon?”

As they rolled the empty pull cart down the wagon's ramp, Abby considered her reply. James wanted to work for a while in his carriage shop, so she had planned to put in her usual Friday afternoon hours at the mercantile . . . but her situation had changed.