Emma Blooms At Last (8 page)

But when they stepped inside the old barn that had been renovated into a consignment shop, Jerome sensed that the two floors of booths crammed with odds and ends might overwhelm Emma even more than the furniture store had. She walked ahead of him with her hands stuffed into her coat pockets, as though she feared she might break something.

Jerome frowned. Emma's shyness was wearing him thin. While she glanced into each booth as they passed it, she wasn't taking time to really
look
at anything.

“Say, what about this drop-leaf table?” he asked. He lifted one side to snap it into place, smiling at its efficient design. “This is only a foot wide—would fit against the wall as a lamp table—yet it opens out to seat six, the tag says. And it comes with these sturdy wooden fold-up chairs. It would be gut for when James and Abby have folks over for dinner.”

Emma shrugged. “Most likely if they have company, they'll include Sam's bunch and the parents and me,” she replied. “So we could eat at Mamm and Dat's big table or in Barbara's kitchen, the way Abby's done since she moved into her little house. But jah, it's a clever piece.”

For another twenty minutes they moved from booth to booth, following the same pattern: Jerome pointed out an item he liked and Emma nixed it. While she had kept him from choosing gifts that would be inappropriate—and had saved him the two thousand bucks he'd have spent on a china hutch—she'd also spoiled the fun he usually had while poking around in antique stores. As they stepped outside again, he felt tiny flutters of moisture hitting his face.

“Shall we get some lunch?” Jerome asked once they were seated in the rig. “There's a vintage-style diner just down the road . . .”

“Or we could go back to Cedar Creek,” Emma remarked in a hopeful tone. “Between what Mamm and I fixed and what Amanda brought, there's plenty enough for us to join them.”

Jerome smiled. “But you've spent your morning with me and saved me from making a lot of mistakes,” he said gently. “I'd like to treat you to a meal you didn't have to cook yourself. Will that be all right?”

Emma smiled as the color rose in her cheeks. “Well, since you put it that way . . .”

He was thankful that once they were seated in a red leatherette booth with a chrome-edged table between them and a miniature jukebox on the wall, Emma took off her black coat and bonnet. In her amber cape dress and a cream-colored apron that fastened behind her neck, she looked much more attractive and . . . inviting.

Jerome was pleased when she ordered a patty melt with fries and a side of tomato soup. At least she wasn't going to be finicky about her food, like some girls were. After he ordered the blue plate special, which was meat loaf, he tapped on the wall-mounted jukebox. “Pick a song, Emma. We can listen while we wait for our lunch.”

As she flipped through the selections, Jerome fished out a quarter and put it in the slot. “F six,” she murmured.

In a few moments, “See You Later, Alligator” filled the small diner. As Emma tapped her fingers on the tabletop, keeping time to the old rock-and-roll song, she looked as happy as Jerome had ever seen her. At last, he'd found something they both enjoyed, even if the church didn't allow them to play such music at home.

“Dat took James and Abby and me to a horse auction once,
when we were around ten or eleven,” she recounted. “We ate lunch at a place similar to this one, and Dat played this record on the jukebox—and it's stuck with us ever since. Even on days when he can't recall what he ate for breakfast, he knows every word to this song.”

“It's a snappy tune,” Jerome agreed, tapping his toes. Just for fun, he wanted to catch Emma's feet between his and give them a quick squeeze, but he thought better of it. “It's nice to have that memory from when your dat was younger and stronger. My mamm and dat died when our house burned to the ground, when I was just ten.”

Emma's eyes widened. “And how was it that
you
didn't—I mean . . .”

The concern on her face coaxed Jerome to grasp her hand. “I was staying overnight at a cousin's house,” he replied. “The firemen said the old furnace exploded, and because the house was built of very dry wood they'd saved from a barn they'd torn down, my folks were gone before they knew what hit them. That's when Aunt Amanda and Uncle Atlee took me in—and probably why I get such a kick out of your dat.”

“You didn't lose any brothers or sisters, I hope?” Emma murmured. “If something happened to James, I'm not sure I could bear it.”

Jerome felt comforted by her concern, even though the accident had happened more than half his lifetime ago. “No, it seems they broke the mold when they made me,” he said with a chuckle.

For a moment, Emma's gaze lingered on his. Such an unusual shade of brown her eyes were, similar to a mixture of honey and cinnamon. Too soon, she eased her hand away. “I'm sorry,” she murmured. “That was a horrible thing to endure when you were so young.”

Immediately she clammed up, and once again Jerome wished
he'd selected his topic of conversation more carefully. Their food came, and after a few minutes of silent grace stretched into a lack of conversation that felt unbearably strained, he tried again. “So, what do you like to do for a gut time, Emma?”

She looked at him over the top of her thick hamburger sandwich, which dripped with cheese and fried onions. “I—I don't know,” she murmured. “I haven't thought much about it.”

What could he say to
that
? Was Emma truly so housebound with her parents that she never even got together with girlfriends? Or was she evading another date with him?

As Jerome scooped up another bite of mashed potatoes drenched in rich brown gravy, he thought it was more likely that Emma didn't remember how to enjoy herself. She'd grown past the age of attending Singings . . . but surely fellows around Cedar Creek and Clearwater had asked her out. Had she turned them down, waiting for Matt to realize how she felt about him? Jerome didn't press for answers, because Emma was intently studying her soup cup as though she wanted to look at anything but him.

Or did that hint of a smile twitching on her lips mean she was looking for a way to tell him something?

When Emma had gone several moments without saying anything else, Jerome fell back on an idea he'd had in mind as a last resort. “You know, I've got three newborn mules at home, none of them spoken for yet,” he mused aloud. “I think I'll train one of them to harness for Abby and James. They're every bit as dependable as a thoroughbred for pulling a buggy, and usually less temperamental.”

Emma flashed him a smile. “Oh, that's a fine idea, Jerome. Something only you can give them,” she replied. “And I was thinking I'll crochet them an afghan. Abby's so busy with sewing for her business, she doesn't have time for much handiwork.”

“She'll like that. And it's something James can curl up with as
well.” Jerome felt as relieved as Emma looked, to have this decision made—even though it meant that he had no more specific reasons to ask her out. Crocheting was something she could do at home, with her parents . . .

“Although,” Emma continued in a low voice, “I won't have much time for crocheting, either, considering how I'll be working at the Cedar Creek Mercantile. Starting on Monday.”

Jerome's fork clattered to his plate. “
Really?
I never would have guessed—I mean—” He searched desperately for words that wouldn't hurt her feelings. Words he wouldn't regret. “Well, that's quite a surprise, Emma! You didn't let on at the wedding, so—”

“Sam asked me yesterday. Now that Abby's married, he doesn't want her working there, you see.” Emma's face turned a pretty shade of pink. “My first inclination was to say no, but—well, after you told me I should get out more, I decided to try it. So, see? I
was
paying attention to you, Jerome.”

Jerome gazed at Emma, corralling his thoughts about how shy and sheltered she was. Her eyes were sparkling, and she looked excited about taking the job. It had taken a lot of gumption for her to accept Sam's offer, so he didn't want to imply that she might not be suited to dealing with the public or to handling the pressures of the upcoming holiday shopping season.

“Gut for you, Emma,” he said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “We should all try new things every now and again. Sam couldn't have asked a more steadfast, dependable person to help him out.”

Emma's blush deepened, and she withdrew her hand from his. “Denki for saying that,” she murmured. “I know I'll have to face some challenges, but—but I'm determined to make it work.”

Who could've seen
that
coming?
Jerome mused as he paid for their meal. During the ride back to Cedar Creek, Emma asked how things were going at their farm in Bloomingdale, now that
Wyman's family had joined them and eight kids lived there. This was the kind of light, easy conversation he'd been hoping for all morning. It made him wonder if Emma had been so quiet while they were shopping because she'd been looking for a way to share her news, which again pointed out how bashful she was. He hoped she—and Sam—wouldn't be disappointed if their arrangement didn't work out.

As the mercantile and Graber's Custom Carriages came into view, Jerome hoped to pin down another time when he could take Emma out—especially now that she'd be working. He slipped his arm behind her, along the top of the seat, but he'd barely halted the mules at the Grabers' front porch before she sprang from the seat. Emma hurried into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Women. Who can figure them out?
Jerome hitched Sparky and Winona to the front porch railing, realizing what an uphill effort he faced if he wanted to date Emma on a regular basis, much less begin courting her. Would she ever fit into his dreams of having a family . . . or would she require more time and effort than he was willing to invest?

W
hen Eunice's kitchen was cleaned up after their dinner of casseroles and cake, Amanda paused in front of a china hutch where several pieces of her pottery were displayed. “It's quite an honor to see my pieces set up this way,” she remarked as her hostess came to stand beside her.

Eunice's face lit up. “These were gifts from my eightieth birthday party,” she recalled fondly. “The blue and red backgrounds—and all those pretty daisies—perk up the whole room, ain't so?”

“They do,” Amanda agreed. “That was quite a nice party, and I was tickled to be there when you opened so many pieces of my pottery that folks hereabouts had bought for you.”

“I know our
Ordnung
forbids us to engage in art for its own sake,” Eunice said with a sigh, “but it was still a crying shame that the Clearwater bishop made you put away your paints. I'm glad our Vernon is a more progressive leader than Uriah Schmucker.”

Now that Wyman had moved their family to Bloomingdale, Amanda could smile about the confrontations she'd endured with Uriah—especially the day she'd come home to find that he'd smashed several dishes while he'd forced the younger children to look on. “I'm back in business—working on orders from folks who came to Abby and James's wedding,” she replied happily. “While our Bloomingdale bishop, Lamar Lapp, wants me to paint with more subdued colors, I'm pleased to be at my wheel again. And if you can keep a secret,” Amanda added, leaning closer to whisper in Eunice's ear, “I'm making a complete set of dishes for James and Abby. It's a gift from a couple of families here in town.”

“Oh, they'll love that!” Eunice exclaimed. “And I can't think God will object to the way you lift everyone's spirits with your work, either. Why, every time I look at these pieces, I feel downright
joyful
!”

What a huge improvement for often-crabby Eunice. And didn't
joyful
describe their entire morning? Amanda noted how Jemima was stitching another flower basket together on the treadle machine, looking more contented than she had in a long while. Vera and Lizzie were sitting with Gail and Ruthie Lambright at the worktable, fitting together more sections of their colorful flower basket quilt as they chatted. Sam's girls were quizzing her daughters about Pete and Eddie, giggling about how cute they were.

The younger girls were having a fine time, too: the four-year-old twins, Cora and Dora, were seated on either side of Merle at a card table, playing Chutes and Ladders. He held Alice Ann in his lap and was talking about the rewards they reached by climbing the ladders and counting along with them as they moved their markers. Amanda could almost put Wyman's recent financial concerns behind her: her sense of perspective had been restored by making a simple, inexpensive gift from fabric scraps and by the love she felt while she was surrounded by friends and family.

The front door flew open to admit Emma, in a gust of cold air that sent snowflakes swirling into the room. She hurried straight over to the table to see what the girls were working on. “My stars, you've gotten most of this quilt top pieced already,” she remarked as she removed her black bonnet. “That flower basket design's always been one of my favorites.”

“What did you get for Abby and James?” Ruthie quizzed her.

“Better yet, how was your date with Jerome?” Vera asked eagerly.

As the front door opened again, Emma hurried toward the kitchen. “Nothing,” she blurted as she passed behind her mother and Amanda. “And I doubt we'll ever go out again.”

Amanda frowned—not just because Emma seemed so upset, but because Jerome's stricken expression told her he'd overheard Emma's remark. “That doesn't sound any too gut,” she murmured.

“Not what I wanted to hear, either,” Eunice said with a shake of her head.

Jerome walked over to the worktable to see the quilting they'd accomplished. He ran a finger over some of the flower basket squares they'd pieced. “Looks like you girls had yourselves a fine, productive day,” he remarked, although his voice lacked its usual lilt. “The snow's really coming down, so we'd best pack up and head home before the roads get nasty.”

As though they sensed Jerome's downturn in mood, Vera and Lizzie quickly gathered the fabric scraps, supplies, and the almost-finished quilt top into the box they'd brought. “I bet Lizzie and Jemima and I can finish this top before our frolic next Saturday—and if we take it with us, there's no chance of Abby seeing it,” Vera remarked.

“Sounds like a gut plan. I can't wait to work on the second one,” came Emma's voice from the kitchen. “Mamm and I won't breathe a word to Abby. She'll be busy putting in her last week at the mercantile anyway.”

After Jerome helped Merle take down the worktable, Amanda retrieved her baking pans and herded her five girls and Jemima toward the buggy. Lizzie and Vera sat in the back with Cora between them, while Dora and Alice Ann each claimed one of their laps. Jerome helped Jemima into the passenger's side of the front seat after Amanda had climbed in, and then he swung into the right-hand side to drive. It was a tight fit for three adults, especially with Jemima's big hips and Jerome's broad shoulders, so Amanda sat forward on the seat.

Sitting this close to her nephew, Amanda couldn't miss the tension in his jaw or the tightness in the muscled thigh that was wedged against hers. As he urged the mules out to the road, it was clear he didn't want to discuss his shopping trip with Emma. It was going to be a long, tiring ride if he stewed about it all the way home, so when the twins began retelling Merle's silly jokes and riddles to Vera and Lizzie in the backseat, Amanda eased Jerome into a quiet conversation.

“How'd your mules do today?” she asked. “They seem to be taking to the harness and working as a gut team.”

Jerome let out a mirthless laugh. “Jah, Winona and Sparky behaved just fine,” he remarked under his breath. “It's Emma I can't figure out. I understand she's been sheltered—she had never shopped for furniture, so wasn't expecting such sticker shock.” He looked into Amanda's eyes and shook his head dolefully. “I made a point of keeping my hands and my kisses to myself all morning. Except—much as I
wanted
to hold her—I'd barely slipped my arm along the seat behind her when she bolted for the door.”

Amanda patted his knee. “She comes by some of that honestly. Her mamm's extremely frugal and modest, you know—except today Eunice was as chipper as I've ever seen her.”

“Jah,” Jemima agreed. “No talk of her aches and pains. No complaining about Merle. She was having a real gut time.”

“Which tells me Emma could get out more if she wanted to,” Jerome mused aloud. “Maybe she doesn't
want
to socialize . . . Maybe she's content to remain a maidel. If there's no getting her past that idea, I might as well look elsewhere for company.”

Amanda considered this. Jerome
loved
to go on dates; he wore his heart on his sleeve as he showed his girlfriends a good time. Yet it seemed his feelings for Emma might already be following the same downhill path as his two previous engagements. “Could be she's a late bloomer,” she murmured.

Amanda paused to be sure the backseat conversation remained lively, so the twins wouldn't pester Jerome about his dilemma. “I've heard that Emma was in love with Matt Lambright all through school. Maybe she's still not over him getting hitched to Rosemary Yutzy last month.”

“Jah, James told me about that a while back,” Jerome said with a rueful shake of his head. “And maybe Emma's skittishness is partly
my
fault, for bringing up that subject at the wedding. Not only did I step in it; I stuck my foot in my mouth before I thought about how such talk might embarrass her.”

Such an insightful remark made Amanda smile to herself. She could recall when Jerome was all bluster and all about himself—although she'd been relieved both times when he'd broken off his engagements. Her nephew was like a kid at a swimming hole, leaping into romances without first looking to see what jagged rocks lurked beneath the surface of a serious relationship.

“And did you hear that Sam's asked Abby to stop working at the mercantile?” Jerome asked in a low voice. “Emma's replacing her.”

“No!”
Amanda blurted. “Eunice didn't say a word!”

“My stars!” Jemima exclaimed. “If Emma feels like a mouse when she's with
you
, she'll really be looking for a hidey-hole when the store gets busy.”

“Jah, that was
my
reaction. And once again, I blew it—dropped my fork and acted shocked before I could stop myself,” Jerome replied with a sigh. “Bless her heart, Emma said she'd taken my suggestion to get out more. So now she probably thinks I consider her incapable or incompetent. And that's not true at all.”

Amanda tried to imagine quiet, reserved Emma Graber dealing with customer complaints and handling a long line at the checkout counter with Abby's cheerful aplomb. Maybe Eunice hadn't mentioned anything about her daughter taking the job because
she
didn't think it would work out, either. Or maybe she just thought it was Emma's place to announce her new position.

“Well, Sam has known Emma all her life,” Amanda remarked, “so we should trust his judgment. No doubt she has strengths and abilities we've not seen in the short time we've known her.”

“I've got to hand it to her,” Jerome agreed. “She's determined to meet this challenge and see it through. But now I've got two strikes against me—and if Emma's working, she'll have less time and inclination to go out with me. Must be losing my touch,” he added with a short laugh.

“You'll figure it out,” Amanda assured him as they rolled on down the county road. “Emma would make somebody a gut wife. It's just a matter of her figuring out if she
wants
to be a wife, and if she wants to be
yours
.”

*   *   *

B
y the time supper ended that evening, Emma was ready to pinch off her parents' heads. “Enough about Jerome, all right?” she snapped as she and Mamm cleared the table. “I
know
you think he's a gut man with an established business, and I
know
you adore him because he spends a lot of time with you and Dat. And jah, those are fine qualities for a husband. But I've
had
it with everybody's matchmaking.”

Emma realized her frustration was getting the best of her, but
she had to express her feelings before she popped like an overfilled balloon. “Truth be told, I was starting to
like
Jerome—and then, before I'd even gone on one date with him, you figured I'd become a maidel, so you told Sam I could work in the store! I can't please everybody, Mamm—or please
anybody
, it seems. So maybe you'd better let me sort things out for myself, all right?”

Her dat knew to retreat to his recliner in the front room without further comment. Mamm, however, withered on the spot. Her shoulders drooped and the dish she'd been scraping clunked to the table. Then she began to cry—not just sniffling and blinking, but big tears accompanied by a mournful wail.

Emma kicked herself. Her mother had been in a rare exuberant mood after quilting with the Lambright girls and Amanda's family, and now she looked utterly devastated. With a sigh, Emma wrapped her arms around her mamm and pulled her close . . . and couldn't help but notice that she was getting shorter.

“I'm sorry, Mamm. I shouldn't have used such a nasty tone,” Emma murmured. “But please try to understand my side of this. You and Dat don't want me to end up alone, I know—but wouldn't hitching up with the wrong man be even worse? Jerome's like a horse charging out of the barn. And with everyone having us paired up before I've even gotten to know him, well—I've had enough.”

Her mother eased away, removing her glasses to wipe the tears from her red-rimmed eyes. “I know I carry on sometimes—”

So true,
Emma mused.

“But now that James is married, I'd feel better knowing you were taken care of before I die.”

Emma's eyebrows shot up. “Mamm, what brought
this
on? You're nowhere near death's door,” she insisted. “Matter of fact, you've perked up since you turned eighty. And you
know
James
and Abby will look after me, no matter what. I'll always have a home.”

Her mother sniffled loudly. “Jah. That's true.”

“How about if you keep Dat company while I redd up?” Emma offered. “I think we're both tired after a busy day.”

Nodding sadly, her mother shuffled into the front room.

Emma sighed, wishing she could take back her harsh words. But why should she pretend things would click between her and Jerome? While their shopping trip had gone better than she'd expected, he still seemed overconfident to the point of being flashy. And he'd been ready to buy that china hutch for more than two thousand dollars—as a
gift
! For all she knew, he was in debt up to his ears, even if he appeared prosperous and financially stable.

There was no mistaking what Jerome thought about her working at the mercantile, either. He'd tried to cover his astonishment, but his expression had said it all: he thought she was totally wrong for the job.

Trouble is, both he and Abby are probably right. Their reactions confirm my own doubts about coming out of my shell to deal with people—lots of people—every day
.

As she squirted soap into the hot water she was running, Emma sighed. As a grown woman, she still wanted to tackle the mercantile job as a challenging adventure, to prove she could do it. Yet the shy child inside her quaked at the thought of making too many dumb mistakes with the cash register, or getting tongue-tied when a stranger complained about something. Maybe she should tell Sam she'd changed her mind . . .