by Naomi King
Abby flashed her a radiant smile. “And I wish you the same, Emma. Every woman should be as delighted as I feel right now, knowing God has given her exactly the right husband to share her life.”
Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes, but they were tears of happiness for Abby . . . weren’t they? Or was she once again despairing of ever finding a man to love her the way James adored Abby?
Emma sighed. Jerome was sitting at her other side, eating in silence. Even though his earlier remarks had made her uncomfortable, he hadn’t been unkind—and maybe, after two unsuccessful engagements, he, too, was wondering if he’d ever find the right person to love. Emma was trying to think of a way to engage him in conversation again, when Rudy Ropp, who owned the dairy farm down the hill, stepped up to the eck.
“Say there, Jerome, that was quite the picture of your eight-mule hitch in the latest issue of the Connection,” he remarked. “Looks like you trained a team of prizewinners.”
Jerome’s smile lit up his whole face. “Jah, when the mules’ owner sent me that photo, Jemima insisted on sending it to the magazine. Seems that mule team’s already won a couple of competitions. Come January, they’ll go on to the big shows at the National Western in Denver.”
Titus Yutzy and Mervin Mast came up to the eck then, to add their comments. “I recall the day you were strutting that team’s stuff, hauling a wagonload of folks down the county road,” Titus said.
“Jah, it was as fine a parade as I’ve ever seen, even if it was just your one wagon,” Mervin joined in. “I rushed outside to see what was making that thunder down the road, and there came your team, with every mule stepping in cadence—like you’d trained them to march to music!”
Emma took a bite of her pumpkin pie. She remembered that day because she had been riding in that fancy wagon as Jerome drove those mules. And it had been an awesome experience—and Jerome had to trick you into coming, coaxing Mamm to ride so you’d be the only one left at home if you didn’t join them.
She blinked. Maybe she really did need to get out more . . . but right now, keeping busy seemed the best way to dodge her confused thoughts.
Although as a member of the wedding party Emma was entitled to enjoy an afternoon of visiting rather than helping during the meal, she stood up to scrape plates. “I’m doing this so you won’t, Abby,” she informed the bride. “I hope James will keep you so occupied visiting your guests that you don’t wash a single dish or fetch so much as a cookie for anybody today.”
As Abby laughed, James slipped his arm around her shoulders. “That’s my plan, Emma. We’ll resume our responsibilities tomorrow, come time to clean up. I figure on enjoying our big day now that the serious part is over.”
Emma agreed wholeheartedly, just as she found particular fulfillment in making herself useful. Because the Graber and Lambright families were hosting so many guests from all over the Midwest today, a second shift would eat the meal after this bunch of folks had finished their pie—and that meant a lot of dishes to be gathered up and washed. Then, after the singing and games this afternoon, several of the guests would remain for supper and the cutting of the wedding cake.
Emma picked up a dish bin and started down the table where folks had first been seated and were starting to leave. She chatted with some of them, but remained focused on piling the dishes carefully in the bin so they wouldn’t break. Lost in thought, she looked up to find Matt Lambright smiling at her from his seat at the table. Rosemary’s toddler, Katie, had settled into his lap, looking ready to snooze, and the sweetness of this father-daughter scene took Emma’s breath away.
“Another happy day in Cedar Creek,” Matt remarked. “We’ve been waiting for James and Abby to tie the knot for a long time now.”
Emma got so choked up, she couldn’t answer him. She grabbed the dish bin to go empty it so she didn’t have to behold Matt’s satisfied smile as he hugged Katie close.
Chapter Four
Wyman Brubaker rose from the table feeling very full—he’d eaten a heaped plate of the wedding roast, mashed potatoes with creamed celery, and his favorite green bean casserole with the crunchy onions on top, along with some salads. But even after completing the meal with a slice of cherry pie, he felt . . . anxious. In the past few days, he and his partner had talked on the phone several times and had decided not to give in to Reece Weaver’s demand for more money, but still he’d lain awake at night, wondering how he’d support his family through the winter. Now it was time to seek advice.
“See you boys around,” he said to Eddie and Pete, who were devouring second platefuls from the buffet line. Wyman rested his hand on Simon’s head, amazed at how much food his five-year-old had tucked away. “And you, Son, will be making everyone remark about how well-behaved you are today, jah? No more stunts like you pulled when Amanda and I got married.”
Simon feigned wide-eyed innocence as he reached for his pie. “But, Dat, I didn’t pull the tablecloth off that table on purpose! I was just excited.”
“Rowdy and out of control is more like it,” Wyman insisted. He’d never forget the ominous crash of plates, glasses of water, and potted plants that had brought his wedding dinner to a halt last month while the servers scurried for brooms. “I’ll be visiting with the men, but don’t think I’m not watching you.”
“Jah, Dat’s got eyes in the back of his head,” Pete warned his little brother.
“And Amanda’s already got you so figured out, she knows when you’re going to do something ornery even before you do.” Eddie widened his eyes ominously, gazing at Simon.
“Jah, like you guys never pester Lizzie, or smart off, or break stuff.” Simon forked up a big chunk of pumpkin pie and jammed it into his mouth.
“And those are just a few of the things I expect not to see this afternoon, got it?” Wyman said in a purposeful voice.
As he made his way between the tables, Wyman greeted several folks he knew—even some from as far away as Clearwater, where he’d spent his entire life until he’d moved to Amanda’s farm in Bloomingdale a few weeks ago. When he spotted Vernon Gingerich leaving the greenhouse, however, he walked faster to catch up with him. The white-haired bishop from Cedar Creek had offered to talk with him about adjusting to life with his large, blended family, and he valued Vernon’s practicality about financial matters as well.
Once outside, he was pleased to see that Sam Lambright was also stepping over to speak with Vernon. Surely these two stable, established businessmen—one ran the Cedar Creek Mercantile and the other owned a herd of fine black Angus cattle—would offer some words of much-needed wisdom.
“Say, can I bend you fellows’ ears for a moment?” Wyman called out as he followed them across Sam’s leaf-strewn lawn.
Bishop Gingerich flashed a beatific smile that exuded boyish happiness blended with venerable wisdom. Wyman raised a hand in welcome as the two church leaders waited for him to catch up. And now that he’d gotten their attention, he had to confide in them, didn’t he? No more trying to shoulder his doubts alone, thinking it was the manly way to handle his troublesome situation with Reece Weaver.
“All settled into Bloomingdale?” Vernon asked him. “One of these days I’d like to make it over that way to look at Jerome’s mules. Might be in the market for one.”
“He’d be happy to work with you,” Wyman replied.
Sam, the taller of the two preachers, gazed directly at him as though already detecting his troubled thoughts. “And how’s your new grain elevator coming along? That’s a major project, but you’ve got the perfect location for it.”
Wyman glanced around to be sure no one could overhear. As well-loved as Vernon was, it was only a matter of time before other folks would want to visit with him. “That’s exactly what’s on my mind, Sam. Have either of you fellows had any dealings with Weaver Construction in the past few years?”
“Can’t say as I have,” Vernon replied. “They do mos
tly commercial construction, the way I understand it.”
“Jah, and folks around these parts usually have our Amos and Owen Coblentz build their homes and cabinets and such,” Sam continued with a nod. “I noticed you frowning during the wedding—and I was hoping it wasn’t because I’d said something that upset you during the first sermon.”
Wyman chuckled. He should’ve realized that Sam and Vernon, two very astute spiritual leaders, would sense when he was troubled. “I wish it were that simple—and something I could go back and do differently,” he replied. “Reece Weaver’s dat built the elevator in Clearwater several years back, so naturally my partner and I wanted his Plain family to construct the new one. But Reece isn’t cut from the same cloth his father was.”
“The younger generation often takes on a whole different attitude,” Sam agreed.
Wyman sighed. “Attitude isn’t the half of it. When Reece first went over his estimate with Ray and me, everything seemed to be spelled out. I paid him more than half of the total amount so he could get started right away. Used the money from selling my place in Clearwater.”
Vernon’s eyebrows rose. “It’s usually not prudent to mix business money and personal money, I’ve found.”
“True enough, but it kept me from having to take out a loan,” Wyman explained. “I banked the rest of the money from my farm, figuring it would get us through this winter until the new elevator was up and running. But when Reece called Monday to say he needed another hundred thousand dollars immediately, due to some unforeseen EPA regulations and having to blast through bedrock, I nearly keeled over in the barn.”
Both preachers’ faces expressed dismay. “Reece should’ve known about those regulations, and what the geological survey of your place said, before he finalized the deal,” Vernon stated.
“Jah, I’m not familiar with current building codes, but I don’t like the sound of that at all,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “What did you do, Wyman?”
“I talked with Ray, and he thinks we should stand firm—or pay Reece only part of that extra expense until the foundation is poured and we know the actual costs from the heavy equipment operators.” Wyman felt himself getting wound up all over again and took a deep breath to settle his nerves. “Reece insists his crew will only be available for my job for a short while, and I want my concrete poured before winter sets in, so I’m at the mercy of his schedule.”
“Hmm . . . maybe that’s what Reece wants you to think,” Vernon remarked. “Did you give him the money?”
“A hundred thousand dollars would have left me seriously short for getting us through the winter,” he admitted. “I took him twenty-five thousand and said he’d have to proceed with the job like we’d already planned. He was none too happy.”
“Is it too late to hire a different contractor?” Sam queried.
Wyman exhaled loudly. He’d asked himself time and again if he should’ve taken bids from other fellows, and the two preachers seemed to echo his misgivings about the way Reece did business. “He’s already started digging, so I can’t think he’ll give any of my money back. And by the time I could hire someone else—”
“You’d be getting into heavy frost, and the ground would be freezing around your concrete,” Vernon agreed.
“I—I don’t want Amanda to worry that I’ve overextended us, after I assured her I’d be able to support our blended family.” Wyman glanced toward the greenhouse. Through the glass panels, he saw his wife working alongside local ladies as the second shift of guests sat down to dinner. “Amanda’s such a fine woman, and my kids are settling into their new routine at her place. We’ve been through a lot lately, considering how that storm last month sent a couple of trees through our house in Clearwater. What if that had happened before I married Amanda? We Brubakers would’ve been in a bad way—and we wouldn’t have had a home to move into.”
“And just as the Lord led you to Amanda, He’ll show you the way through this problem with your contractor,” Vernon said, squeezing Wyman’s shoulder, his blue eyes glowing with compassion. “I wouldn’t sell your new wife short, far as being able to handle a tight winter, either.”
“Jah, she got her girls and Jemima through four tough years after Atlee died,” Sam pointed out. “And with Jerome’s mule business doing so well, he’ll be helping out, too. We Lambrights look after one another, and now you and your kids are family, Wyman.”
“But you’ve already restocked our Bloomingdale kitchen—replaced the food we lost, as well as the kids’ clothes, after the storm hit our other house,” Wyman protested. “And you gave Eddie a job painting your store—”
Sam held up his hand, gazing purposefully over Wyman’s shoulder as though someone were approaching from behind him. “Don’t be too proud to ask for my help, understand?” he murmured.
“We’ll keep your troublesome situation in our prayers,” Vernon added solemnly. “It’s the least—and the most—any of us can do for one another. And speaking of your fine wife, here she comes.”
Wyman turned to watch Amanda stride across the lawn with her gray shawl draped over her dress of deep plum. Her smile lifted his spirits, and he felt grateful for the way this woman believed in him and had so greatly improved his life. “Did the ladies give you time off for gut behavior, my dear?” he asked, extending his hand.
Amanda grasped his fingers and included Sam and Vernon in her wide smile. “I thought I’d take a break, to see what the kids’re up to while I got some fresh air,” she said. “It’s such a wonderful day, celebrating Abby and James’s marriage, but it has been several hours since I started cooking this morning.”
“And I can’t thank you and your girls enough,” Sam said. “What with Abby not helping today, Barbara and Mamm and my girls appreciate some extra hands.”
“Vera and Lizzie were pleased to come—and Jemima, too,” Amanda added. “At home, they’ve taken on the laundry and most of the chores, because the Bloomingdale bishop is allowing me to make my pottery again! So today’s wedding is a chance for them to be with friends. It’s a nice outing, even if they’ve been just as busy as I have.”
“So Lamar Lapp’s a more lenient bishop than Uriah Schmucker, is he?” Vernon asked with a smile. He clasped his hands behind his back, assuming a pensive expression.
“As long as I paint with muted colors and stick to useful, practical pieces, Lamar’s letting me put the new kiln and wheel Wyman bought me to gut use, jah,” Amanda replied as she squeezed Wyman’s hand.
“And you’re all right with her pottery making, Wyman?” Sam asked. “Some fellows insist that their wives focus on the kids and the household.”
“I see this as a way for my kids to take on more responsibilities—as you fellows discussed with me earlier,” Wyman replied firmly. “I’m grateful that Amanda’s able to carry on with a productive activity she loves, too. We’ll never forget the day Uriah smashed a bunch of her dishes in front of the younger kids, claiming her skills were sinful. After that incident, I lost all faith in him as a spiritual leader.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re at your wheel again, Amanda, because now I have a fine gift idea for James and Abby!” Vernon focused intently on her, a grin twitching at his lips. “I’d like you to make a set of gut, sturdy everyday dishes—plates, bowls, and mugs as well as platters and serving pieces—in whatever color you think Abby will prefer,” he said as he reached into his vest pocket. “And I’m going to advance you a down payment.”
Amanda’s eyes widened with delight. “I’d be happy to do that! How many place settings?”
“Eight sounds like a nice round number,” the bishop replied as he took out his checkbook.
“And I’m going to ask you for another eight place settings,” Sam chimed in. “Barbara and I were just talking about what to give the newlyweds, and Vernon’s hit on the perfect idea. Abby and James will be delighted with dishes you’ve made, Amand
a—and this way, they’ll have enough for when all of us come for dinner. My checkbook’s in the house, so let’s head up there and I’ll give you a down payment as well.”
Wyman sensed his wife’s excitement, and he wanted her to enjoy this moment. “I’ll see you in a few, Amanda,” he said. “I get suspicious when everything’s quiet and Simon’s nowhere to be seen,” he added wryly.
Sam and Vernon laughed and continued toward the tall white Lambright home with Amanda walking between them. The folks who’d eaten dinner in the first shift were clustering in the yard, some of them also heading to the house to visit. Wyman greeted many of them as he strolled toward the barn, where the young people had gathered.
While he suspected the two preachers had ordered dishes partly to assist him with his tight financial situation, Wyman wasn’t about to protest. Amanda was clearly pleased about making dinnerware for Abby and James, and this sort of order was always preferable to selling her pottery on consignment in gift shops. Even though Sam and Vernon hadn’t given him any specific ideas about dealing with Reece Weaver, Wyman felt relieved, as though he’d released some of his burden simply by discussing it with them.
As he’d figured, Eddie and Pete were playing a rousing game of volleyball with other kids out by the corral, while Lizzie and Vera were seated on hay bales inside the barn, visiting with several girls. Alice Ann slumped in Lizzie’s lap, napping after a busy day that had started in the wee hours. That left Simon, Cora, and Dora to account for . . .
What a pleasure to discover the twins scurrying around the yard behind Abby’s small house, playing hide-and-seek with other young children. Abby’s niece, Ruthie Lambright, and her best friend, Beth Ann Yutzy, encouraged them to hurry and find new hiding spots, while Simon stood against the side of Abby’s home with his eyes covered. “Ten, eleven, twelve . . . ,” he called out in his husky little-boy voice.
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.
