Rosemary Opens Her Heart: Home at Cedar Creek, Book Two

by Naomi King

  James sighed and looked away. “This isn’t coming out the way I intended. Much as I want to court you, Abby—and maybe get hitched—it wouldn’t be right for me to work such long hours here in the shop while you waited dinner, or waited up, or—”

  “I’ve been waiting for most of my life, James. I wouldn’t mind—” Abby clapped her hand over her mouth. What would she accomplish by interrupting this man when he was discussing their future together? “I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”

  James laid a finger lightly across her mouth. “Took me long enough to notice how you feel about me, ain’t so?” He stepped back, pressing his lips into a tense line, as though what he was about to say pained him. “But it’s not fair of me to keep you waiting even longer while I get these orders out and hire a new fella in the shop, and—well, if you want to see somebody else, Abby, you should do that.”

  Abby’s heart sank like a stone. Just when she’d been carried along by the power of his wonderful words, flying high on her lifelong hopes, she’d hit bottom. She blinked rapidly. She couldn’t answer him, her throat felt so tight, so she stared down at her notebook page.

  As she seated herself and reread what she’d written several minutes ago, Abby kept her eyes lowered and her mouth shut, desperately trying not to cry. James went back to the carriage he was working on, and soon the whine of a pneumatic drill filled the room. She wrote in a hurried scrawl:

  Sometimes we ride along life’s highway fine and dandy, with the clip-clop! clip-clop! of the horse’s hooves singing its age-old song, and other days we hit potholes or an axle breaks or life takes a turn we didn’t expect. It’s times like those when we ask our Lord to take the reins and we trust Him to get us where we need to go—even when we don’t think it’s the route we want to take. Here’s wishing you a good ride in the right direction this week.

  —Abigail Lambright

  She glanced up as she folded the page in half. James had gone to the front room, so it seemed a good time to slip out. While she had never been one to back away from serious discussions, it didn’t feel right to keep sitting here with such a cloud of disappointment shrouding her. The dusk would disguise her tear-streaked face as she crossed the road and went home.

  Abby let her tears fall unchecked as she made her way down Lambright Lane. What with the tourists from four buses that had kept them so busy at the mercantile today, it seemed a good time to let her hair down and read for a while before she turned in. Tomorrow wasn’t a preaching Sunday, so she could recopy her Budget piece and prepare it for the mail before she went over to Sam’s to share breakfast…

  But making a batch of muffins would be better than sticking her nose in a book; it would use up those two really ripe bananas in the fruit bowl. And banana-nut muffins were Sam’s favorite.

  Abby opened her door, glad to have this muffin mission. Wasn’t it better to bake someone happy than to stew in your own juice?

  James watched out his shop window as Abby walked toward her house, her head bent low. He kicked himself. How had such a pleasant evening turned such a disastrous corner? She had given him a shoulder rub, had spent time with him while they both worked on their separate projects. He’d made such a light shine in her eyes when he’d told her he wanted to court her and impetuously kissed her cheek. And then he’d broken her heart.

  You hurt the feelings of the most patient, loving woman on the face of this earth, and for what? So you could work on this devil-red carriage? Is there a message here?

  “Jah, there’s a message, all right,” he muttered as he thought back over his part in their conversation. He’d gone on and on about how much work he had to do, how shorthanded he was. He couldn’t have foreseen Perry’s departure, but hadn’t it been his own idea to accept orders for more custom carriages that required so much extra time? Stress, that’s what this was. Working overtime alone, feeling so much pressure to produce, went against Old Ways. It smacked of outside-world commercialism, where orders called the tune and workmen danced faster and faster to keep up with the music.

  And that was just wrong. The way he had treated his dearest friend tonight was inexcusable.

  As James put away his tools, he fretted. Should he apologize to Abby now, or the next time he saw her? It would serve him right if she did what he’d suggested. Spending her time with another man probably sounded like a fine idea to her, now that he’d disappointed her so badly a second time.

  Tense as his insides felt, though, he couldn’t let this stretch into the night and keep him—and Abby—from sleeping. Wasn’t it the prophet Isaiah who had said there would be no rest for the wicked—no peace for them because they were like a troubled sea casting up dirt and muck? His stomach and his conscience certainly felt that way, even if he hadn’t hurt Abby intentionally.

  James closed the shop door behind him and headed for the road. The clip-clop! clip-clop! of an approaching carriage made him wave even before he could distinguish Zeke and Eva Detweiler in the front seat, waving back at him. They were driving the carriage he had designed with a hydraulic lift so Joel’s wheelchair would sit securely in the back, and as he saw the orange triangular sign on the back, it struck him: “Slow-Moving Vehicle.” That’s exactly the speed you were meant to travel, too, James Graber.

  The Detweiler carriage was one of the finest customized rigs he’d ever designed. It gave a family with a partially paralyzed child a way for them to be with other folks. There was a message here, too: Had God given him his carriage-making talents so he could serve a theme-park Santa? Or was he to put his time and skill toward vehicles that helped families and thereby honored his commitment to Christ and His church?

  James hurried up the long gravel driveway, past the big white home where Sam’s family had turned on the lamps. It was twilight, and he hoped he wouldn’t catch Abby getting ready for bed. As early as she rose each morning, the lamp in her bedroom window was often out by nine thirty. He knew this because he watched from across the road most evenings, wishing her good night from his upstairs room. James stepped onto her front porch and knocked, praying that he’d say the right thing.

  Abby didn’t answer.

  James curled the brim of his straw hat in his damp hand, wondering if he’d already upset her enough—until the curtain fluttered at the window. The knob turned. Abby peered out the crack in the door. “Yes, James?” Her eyes looked puffy and her voice sounded hoarse.

  He cleared his throat. “I came at a bad time but—well, I just couldn’t leave things the way they were, Abby. I’m sorry. And I’m stupid, too.”

  She blinked. “I’ve taken off my kapp. And I’ve got muffins in the oven.”

  The thought of Abby’s brown hair cascading down her back teased at him. He’d never seen her without either a prayer covering or a kerchief, and only a husband was to be with a woman when her hair was undone. “It’s a lot to ask, Abby, but please can we talk for a bit? I’ll wait out here, for however long it takes you to wind up your hair.”

  Abby sighed, sounding weary. “All right,” she finally replied. “We can sit on the porch.”

  He took a seat, comforted by the creaking of the wooden swing’s chains. It was probably best that Abby had insisted on following the Old Ways of modesty, for it gave him a chance to think about what he’d say. And frankly, it had been too long since he’d sat on a porch on an early-summer’s night, taking in the velvet sky dotted with stars and the gentle warmth of the breeze, which carried the earthy fragrance that came ahead of rain.

  When Abby stepped outside, her hair was tucked under a kapp and she held a small tray with muffins and two glasses of milk. James inhaled the heavenly scent of banana-nut muffins and was glad her swing was wide enough only for two. He groaned with the first bite of a muffin that filled his mouth with the flavors of banana and black walnuts and a basic old-fashioned goodness that was so like Abby Lambright.

  “Denki for seeing me. It’s more than I deserve.”

  “Puh,” she protested. “We’ve both of u
s been under more pressure lately. I shouldn’t have made that remark about waiting—”

  “That doesn’t excuse what I said, Abby. And on the way over here, I—I made a decision.” He took another bite of the muffin to fortify his new commitment. “After I finish these three specialty carriages for English customers, there’ll be no more work of that sort. I bit off more than I could chew. I had no call to burden you with my troubles.”

  Her hand found his in the darkness. “But you enjoy making those fancy rigs.”

  “It’s not my best work. Not when it takes me away from the folks who matter most to me—my parents, my sister, and certainly you, Abby,” he said, not daring to stop for a breath and lose his nerve. “Can you forgive me for saying you should see other fellas, when that made you feel so bad? Or…I think it did, anyway.”

  Abby’s chuckle wafted around him, as soothing as the milk they sipped. “No real danger of that happening, you know. A maidel my age doesn’t exactly have men banging her door down.”

  “Puh! Your age!” he protested as he turned in the swing to face her. “The way I see it, other fellas have never tried hard enough—never realized what a fine woman you are, Abby. Me included, for a long while. I hope I haven’t blown my chances, considering how I’ve upset you twice now.”

  Abby’s dark eyes glimmered as she took another bite of her muffin. Was she being coy? Or was she seriously considering whether she would see him again? James agonized as she raised her glass to her lips…Had he unwittingly said something else that had struck her wrong? It was so hard to figure out what went through a woman’s mind. He’d found that out when he was courting Abby’s younger sister, hadn’t he?

  Ah, but Abby is nothing like Zanna. Thank you, God!

  James relaxed. He slipped his arm along the back edge of the swing as she took her time replying.

  “You’re an easy fella to forgive, James,” she whispered. “I’d be foolish to send you packing just because you took on more work than you bargained for, ain’t so? Your heart has always been in the right place, and that’s what counts.”

  Oh, but he wanted to place his heart in her keeping, for now and for always, when Abby gazed at him this way. Did he dare tell her he loved her?

  Better not to push his luck. He’d said enough for one evening.

  James savored the final bite of his muffin, thankful for small pleasures that made life worth living. “Next time I get all cranky about being overworked, will you tell me straight out that I’m being a pain?”

  Abby laughed and set the tray on the porch floor. “I will, if you’ll do the same for me,” she said as she scooted closer to him. “We’re all in this together. With Sam working at his new calling, I’m already—”

  “Let’s not talk about Sam.” James kissed her softly. Abby’s forgiveness tasted sweeter than the banana muffins she had shared with him, so he kissed her again. He lingered over this moment, deepening the kiss as she sighed with him…and responded with a fervor he hadn’t anticipated. Oh, but he’d waited too long to share Abby’s affection.

  As she rested her head on his shoulder, James thanked the Lord for making Abby such a wise, wonderful woman. He felt like a man who’d been wandering lost but had found his way home again.

  Chapter 25

  Monday morning, after Beth Ann had left for a day with the Schlabach girls and Titus had gone to tend his sheep, Rosemary started emptying the kitchen cabinets. Matt would soon arrive with a few women from Cedar Creek who had volunteered to help her pack, and she wanted to be ready for them. Mamm and Malinda clomped up the porch steps, carrying a roaster full of sausage-and-bean casserole for their noon meal. After they’d made over Katie’s new dress, the color of sunflowers, they began the enormous task of emptying Titus’s home of more than forty years.

  “Oh my goodness.” Her mother stared at the stacks of cookbooks, musty tablecloths, and plastic food containers. “You said Alma was a pack rat, but I had no idea.”

  “No sense in filling up your new cabinets with this old stuff,” Malinda declared as she threw open the doors of more crammed cabinets. “Titus will be none the wiser if we take these items to the recycling center.”

  “The Mennonite gals over in Memphis are collecting for another overseas relief project,” Mamm added, “and they need clothes and books and kitchen utensils. Nothing will go to waste.”

  The clatter of wheels announced the arrival of their helpers from Cedar Creek. Rosemary swung Katie to her hip and went outside to greet them. She didn’t foresee any problems with the women getting along…but would her mother and sister approve of Matt Lambright? Here came a high-sided wagon, which Matt was driving, followed by an open carriage full of women who called out to her and waved excitedly.

  “Many hands will make light work of this huge job, Rosemary,” her mother remarked as she and Malinda came outside. “Don’t you worry about—”

  “Matt! Where’s the puppies?” Katie called out when she saw him. She squirmed frantically, and when Rosemary set her on the ground, she scrambled toward him. “Matt, play with me!”

  Rosemary’s heart fluttered at the sight of the sturdy, broad-shouldered man in the straw hat who crouched and opened his arms. At the moment Katie threw herself into his embrace, Rosemary closed her eyes, hoping…

  “Well, now,” Mamm said softly. “That pretty much tells the tale. If you want to run out there the way your daughter did, you don’t need my permission, you know.”

  Malinda laughed. “You didn’t say he was nice and gut-looking, sister. Does he have a brother?”

  As Rosemary turned to introduce the women, Barbara and Treva Lambright greeted her mamm and sister, as did Eunice and Emma Graber. They were all talking at once, picking up the pans of sticky buns and bars they’d brought.

  “We’ve got empty boxes from the store,” Treva said, pointing to a big supply of flattened cardboard crates. “And I brought along some strapping tape.”

  “Went over and took a look,” Eunice declared as she adjusted her pointy-cornered glasses. “The young folks did a fine job of painting your rooms—”

  “And the kitchen cabinets got three coats of white enamel,” Emma added. “It’ll be like moving into a new house.”

  “Your cookstove and oven from Lehman’s got delivered on Saturday.” Barbara climbed down from the driver’s seat of the carriage. “Abby’s already called Jonny Ropp to put them together for you. He’ll deliver them by week’s end, so you’ll be baking those pies for Lois Yutzy in short order.”

  “Sounds like you’re taking gut care of my girls.” Mamm’s voice was higher than usual, but she didn’t waver as she accepted the pans of food they handed her. “I feel better already, seeing what all you’re doing to help my daughter settle in.”

  “Lois has nothing but gut things to say about your Rosemary,” Eunice said with a decisive nod. “We’re glad to see her and Titus moving next door instead of not knowin’ who might buy it.”

  Rosemary’s cheeks tingled as Matt stepped toward her with Katie riding atop his shoulders. “Mamm and Malinda, this is Matt Lambright, Titus’s new partner with the sheep—”

  “Puh!” Malinda exclaimed. “Looks to me like the sheep are just a way for him to pass the time whenever Katie’s not got him wrapped around her little finger.”

  “Jah, just one more female making me toe the line,” Matt agreed as they all chuckled. “I’ll get on over to the barn and help Titus load his hay and equipment. Seems safer than going into the house, where you gals might put me in a box and tape it shut.”

  Rosemary’s helpers started toward the house with their moving supplies, chatting like they’d been friends for years. Katie fussed when Matt peeled her arms from around his neck, but when he whispered something in her ear, she nodded and kissed him loudly on the cheek. “See you at dinner,” he reassured her as he handed her to Rosemary.

  “Jah. You can sit by me!” Katie exclaimed.

  Rosemary situated her toddler on her hip and grabbed a picn
ic hamper sitting beside the carriage. She walked quickly to catch up with the other women, who were making their way to the house with Mamm in the lead. “And what did Matt whisper in your ear?” Rosemary asked her daughter.

  Katie giggled. “A secret.”

  “Ah, and what sort of secret was it?” A few steps away from the kitchen door, Rosemary caught up to Emma…hoping that since she’d come here with Matt and his mother, her opinion of him—and her mood—had improved.

  “Matt says he loves me. And he loves you, too, Mama!”

  Rosemary’s face prickled with heat as she glanced at Emma. “You just never know what Katie will say next.”

  Emma shrugged, looking rueful. “It’s easy to see she speaks the truth, though. I—I wish you all the best with Matt, Rosemary,” she murmured. “Tried real hard to catch him for myself, but it wasn’t meant to be. And I’m real sorry about the way I talked to you at the frolic. It scared me when I realized I was sounding as snippy as Mamm, so I’ve made my peace with Matt, too.”

  What could she say to make her future neighbor feel better? Rosemary wondered. It had taken some courage to come here under such circumstances…had cost Emma some pride to admit that her affection hadn’t been returned.

  “It’s never easy to predict how our lives will work out, Emma,” Rosemary replied. “It came as a complete surprise that Matt noticed me, when I wasn’t ready to give up loving my husband, Joe. Katie’s made things happen faster, and most folks can’t help but go along with her.”

  “Jah, Katie has that way about her.”

  “I never dreamed I’d be moving away from Queen City,” Rosemary went on as they stepped into the kitchen. She noticed that the other women were listening to her, too, so she included them in what she wanted to say. “But now that I’ve met my new neighbors—and such helpful, cheerful ladies you are, too—the move isn’t so scary. It was gut of you all to come today.”

  “I left Sam studying the assignments Bishop Gingerich gave him, while Abby and the girls are running the mercantile,” Barbara remarked.