by Naomi King
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 . . .
Emma’s shoulders slumped. She was exhausted. She would pray on this situation and make her decision tomorrow.
When she’d finished the dishes, Emma was ready to apologize to her parents for her snippy words, but they’d already gone upstairs to bed. These winter days it got dark by five o’clock, so the urge to hibernate was stronger for all of them. She was glad she and Dat had tended the livestock before supper, so now all that remained was . . . an evening alone with her thoughts.
She missed James. Until these last couple of days, Emma hadn’t realized how much happier mealtimes were with him around, and how much conversation and diversion her brother had provided for their parents—not to mention how he’d done most of the outdoor chores. This won’t change, either. He’ll stop in every day, sure, but then he’ll go home to Abby, across the road . . .
Emma put out the lamps in the kitchen and left only one burning in the front room. While it would be the perfect evening to choose a pattern for the afghan she would crochet for James and Abby, she didn’t feel like going upstairs to fetch her pattern books . . . didn’t feel like doing anything except gaze forlornly out the side window, watching the snow fall as she stood near the woodstove. The rolling hills were blanketed with a fresh layer of white that glowed in the moonlight, punctuated by the dark cedars at the distant creek and the ribbon of road that had been cleared by the county plow. Such a peaceful scene Sam’s place made as the snow piled higher on the fence rails.
Emma, however, felt anything but peaceful. She liked Jerome, but he was way out of her league. Why can’t he be more like Matt?
She blinked at that sentiment. Was she thinking about Matt again because, just down the hill, the glow of a lantern between the barn and the house meant he was heading inside after tending his sheep and horses for the evening?
Let him go, she chided herself. He’s devoted to Rosemary and Katie. There’s no future in wishing for what will never be.
Emma vowed to make a fresh start tomorrow. It was a visiting Sunday in Cedar Creek, with no church service, and James and Abby weren’t due home until late afternoon. She and Mamm had already put together a bacon, cheese, and hash brown breakfast casserole, and a roast was ready to go into the oven for dinner, so she would spend the day enjoying her parents’ company . . . maybe encourage them to join her at some board games. Or she might hitch up the sleigh and take them for a ride! The new-fallen snow was perfect for such an adventure, and the fresh air would do them all good.
She went upstairs to bed with a lighter heart and the best of intentions.
On Sunday morning, Emma hummed as she slid the breakfast casserole into the oven before going outside to tend to the morning chores. It was a beautiful day for a sleigh ride. She was thinking about which blankets to take along when Dat came up beside her. His hair was still rumpled from sleeping and his flannel shirttail stuck out around his suspenders. He slung his arm around her waist, wearing the oddest expression.
“Emma, your mamm . . . well, she went home to Jesus in her sleep last night. Peaceful as you please,” he murmured in a faraway voice. “I sure hope I go that easy when it’s my time.”
Chapter Nine
Had the casserole not already been in the oven, Emma would have dropped it. She grabbed for the kitchen counter. “Dat, you can’t be—surely she’s just sleeping really hard.”
“Tried shaking her shoulder, but . . . well, she’s already cold. I’m sorry, Emma.”
“Sorry?” she blurted, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. Her thoughts spun out of control even as she suspected her dat was having one of his off days, not thinking clearly. The proper response was to go upstairs and check on Mamm herself, yet her throat clicked like a casket latch when she swallowed. Truth be told, she was petrified at the idea of being anywhere close to a dead person, much less touching one . . . much less determining that her poor, dear mother had indeed passed on.
I didn’t get to say good-bye . . . I was so mean and hateful last night . . .
No! Mamm’s been perkier than ever lately, just like I told her yesterday. This is not happening—not while James is away and . . .
Emma inhaled deeply to corral her frantic thoughts. She fought back sudden tears. “I’d better see about her,” she murmured, even as her stomach knotted. “Are—are you all right, Dat?”
Stupid question! she chided herself. Yet as he wrapped his gnarled fingers around her hand, her father seemed amazingly calm. My stars, he believes he woke up beside a dead woman. Yet he’s leading me toward the stairs as though he knows exactly what he’s doing . . . as coherent and purposeful as when James and I were kids.
Emma willed herself to walk up the stairs and then toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. She resisted the urge to turn and run . . . prayed that Mamm would be sitting on the side of the bed, pulling on her black stockings and fussing about sleeping so late.
But, no. By the light of the lamp Emma lit, she could see that her mother was gazing at the far wall but she wasn’t seeing anything. As Dat gently lowered her eyelids, Emma turned away, clutching herself to keep from screaming. She suddenly felt lost and terrified and sick to her stomach and ready to flee the room and—
“We’d best call the funeral home,” her dat murmured. “But I don’t suppose anybody’s there this early of a Sunday morning.”
Emma turned to stare at him. How could Dat remain so calm and collected? Why did he seem so rational when she felt like jumping out of her skin, ready to babble like an idiot if she opened her mouth?
“It’s all right, Emmie-girl. You feel everything all at once, like a hamster running crazy-fast on a wheel, when you look death in the face for the first time.” His wrinkles deepened in a sad smile. “I was there when both of my folks and a couple of brothers passed on, you see. Experience doesn’t make it any easier, but it sets you up for what needs to be done.”
Emma let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “We have to call James and—and—”
“That’s a hard one,” Dat replied with a hitch in his voice. “How about if I notify the undertaker, while you go over and tell Sam what’s happened?”
“Jah, I can do that.” Purposely not looking at the figure in the bed beneath the quilt, Emma went for the door. “Put on your heavy coat and boots before you go to the phone shanty, Dat. The snow’s deeper this morning.”
“Jah. I’ll be all right, dear.”
I’ll be all right. How could her dat say that, knowing he’d lost the woman who’d been by his side for more than sixty years? As Emma descended the stairs, nearly blinded by her tears, she was again amazed at his presence of mind—yet grateful he wasn’t wandering around in circles or talking nonsense. Or maybe he was in shock. She’d heard that folks went through the motions in their grief, and then later couldn’t recall taking care of funeral details or—
We’ll need to clean the house and cook for company and sew Mamm’s white burial dress and call everybody and clear the driveway and—and—
By the time Emma had rushed across the road and onto the Lambrights’ porch, she was in such a state that when Barbara opened the kitchen door, she blurt
ed, “Mamm’s gone! I don’t know what to do or who to—and how will I get everything—”
“Hold on, dear,” Barbara murmured as she gently grasped Emma’s shoulders. “Are you saying your mother took off without telling you where she went?”
When Barbara turned to look at Sam, who was rising from the far end of the table, Emma realized she’d burst in on the family’s breakfast. Ruthie, Gail, and Sam’s mother, Treva, also came over to see why she was in such a dither. Surrounded by so many concerned faces, lifelong friends who immediately reached out to rub her back, Emma snapped. Crying uncontrollably, she buried her face in Barbara’s shoulder.
Sam’s wife held her close. “Fetch my medical bag, Sam,” she said quietly. “Let’s get on over there.”
Emma wasn’t sure who did what, but during the next few hours all the overwhelming details were taken care of. She was vaguely aware that someone had rescued the casserole from the oven and that Sam had called both Sharon and Iva, her elder sisters, to come back to Cedar Creek with James and Abby.
“This is no time for you to start work at the store, Emma,” Sam insisted when he came back from the phone shanty. “We’ll wait for a better time, all right?”
Emma nodded gratefully. Next thing she knew, Matt and Titus were plowing the driveway. Rosemary and Treva were sitting on the sofa with her and Dat when men from the funeral home near Clearwater took Mamm’s body. Emma felt as though she were viewing it all from outside the house, through a foggy window . . .
That afternoon, when James and Abby returned from Queen City with their two sisters’ families, Sam offered to host the funeral dinner in Treva’s greenhouse. Abby, ever efficient even as she wiped away her tears, said she would sew Eunice’s white burial dress tomorrow. Gail and Ruthie agreed to bring black dye from the mercantile to help Emma prepare dresses for her and Abby’s period of mourning, while Treva organized callers to notify distant kin that the funeral would be held on Wednesday. With Thursday being Thanksgiving and most of the distant kin not likely to return so soon after attending the wedding, everyone agreed it was best not to wait until Friday for the service. When she returned from the phone shanty, Treva told them that Amanda, Jemima, and the Brubaker bunch insisted on organizing the meal after the funeral so the Grabers and the Lambrights could accept condolences.
Emma was so grateful for such caring friends, yet she felt more like an observer than a participant in this life-altering event. After the Lambrights went home, Iva and Sharon began making lists of cleaning chores to do before the funeral. When they went upstairs to their parents’ room to hunt for the white apron and cape Mamm had worn at her wedding, so she could be buried in them, Dat went up with them to prepare for bedtime. Emma chose to sit with James and Abby in the kitchen.
Her brother took her hand. “Emmie-girl, I’m sorry you and Dat were here alone when . . . Any idea why Mamm might’ve passed last night?”
“She’d been doing so well lately,” Abby remarked with a loud sniffle. “Or at least I thought she was feeling all right.”
Emma shook her head, as she’d been doing most of the day. “I had no notion that Mamm was feeling poorly, either. When she went up to bed last night, she’d had a really fine day. I didn’t get to say gut-bye . . .”
“Jah, I know that feeling,” James murmured forlornly.
“And I’ll never forgive myself for getting cross about her talk of Jerome and me—” Emma stopped before she revealed the secret about the quilting frolic. “I was going to apologize for being snippy, but by the time I’d cleaned up the dishes, Mamm and Dat had gone up to bed, and—and now I’ll never get to talk to her ever again.”
Abby and James each grabbed her hands, nodding forlornly.
“This is all my fault,” Emma muttered. “If I’d stayed at home instead of—”
Abby gripped her fingers. “Emma, you were not wrong to go out yesterday. I’m guessing your mamm was really happy that you took that ride with Jerome—”
“For sure and for certain,” James affirmed. “If Mamm passed in her sleep, without waking Dat with any tossing or moaning, it means she was at peace. Ready to meet her Maker and move on to her reward,” he insisted. “Now it’s our job to find our own peace, knowing that Mamm’s days were numbered, same as anyone’s.”
“Jah, God called her home and she was ready to go,” Abby murmured through her tears. “We should all strive to live so good a life, for so many years.”
James rose from his chair. “I’m going to say gut night to Dat.”
“And I’ll see what shape Eunice’s wedding apron’s in,” Abby said as she stood up to join him. “Sharon and Iva have surely found it by now.”
Emma nodded. She watched them approach the stairs, yet she felt no need to go along. She shuddered at the thought of Dat getting into the bed that Mamm had died in, as though tonight were just like all the other nights of their lives together. And even though her nieces and nephews were getting ready to bunk in the same rooms they always used for their visits, and her sisters’ husbands had gone outside to tend the livestock, Emma realized that—once again—she was alone.
Will it always be this way? Alone, even while I’m surrounded by family?
Exhausted and overwhelmed, Emma buried her head in her arms to cry. So much cleaning had to be done before Tuesday’s visitation and the funeral on Wednesday. So many details and reminders of Mamm must be dealt with, when all Emma wanted was to bury herself in her cozy bed and not come out again any time soon . . .
Chapter Ten
James remained still, breathing in and out with Abby as she lay curled against him, asleep beneath a comforting layer of quilts. In the soft shadows of their bedroom, he’d been thinking heavy thoughts, and before it came time to act upon them, he savored a few more moments of the peace and incredible love he felt for his new wife. When the clock on the dresser chimed five, she stirred in his arms.
“Abby-girl, are you awake?” he whispered.
She stretched against him. “Jah, I am, dear James,” she murmured. “Did you get any rest?”
“Not a lot, but it felt gut to hold you while my thoughts went their ways.”
Abby turned and tenderly stroked his jawline, where his stubbly new beard was growing in. “The Lord’s with us even on difficult days like today. It’ll be hard to say our gut-byes to your mamm, but we’ll get through it.”
James nodded, grateful for the darkness that masked his tears as they rose and dressed for the day. “How about if we eat breakfast here, just the two of us, instead of going over home? We’ll be surrounded by folks and their condolences all day, and . . .”
Abby smiled sadly. She was dressed all in black, with red-rimmed eyes. “Sounds like a fine idea. Some quiet, prayerful time,” she replied. “I’ll heat that casserole Barbara brought us.”
Once again James was grateful for the efficient way his wife began their days. By the time he reached the kitchen, the savory aromas of bacon and coffee enveloped him. As he sat down to a meal he wasn’t particularly hungry for, James bowed in thanksgiving and then gazed at Abby as she remained in prayer a few moments longer.
“What would I do without you to get me through, Abby?” he murmured as he clasped her hand. “Mamm was the glue that held our family together.”
“That’s the way of it in most households,” she observed.
“And I’m concerned more about Emma than about Dat,” James went on as he spooned up some breakfast. The eggs and bread, dotted with onion and bacon and smothered in melted cheese, gave him more of an appetite, as well as the fortitude to broach a potentially tricky topic. “I know how you love this little nest—and I do, too,” he insisted, “but I believe we’d better move across the road. Once Sharon’s and Iva’s families have gone home, Dat and Emma will be rattling around in that house like two dried peas in a shoe box.”
Bless her, Abby met his gaze with a steady smile.
“I’ve already agreed to Emma’s suggestion about having my Stitch in Time business there, so moving in will simplify matters,” she replied with a nod. “I won’t have to shift from one place to the other, from being at work to being your wife, because I’ll be at home all the time.”
I’ll be at home all the time. James closed his eyes against a welling-up of love for the woman who sat across from him. “Denki for understanding, Abby, and for always seeing the positive side of problems that would send some folks into a tizzy.”
Abby smiled despite her sorrow. “Moving in with your dat and Emma’s the right thing to do. And it’s easier because you’ll be making the change with me.”
Later, as they joined the rest of the family at home, where everyone in Cedar Creek gathered to pay their final respects to his mother, James clung to Abby’s hand until he had to take his place on the men’s side of the room. He slid onto the wooden bench beside Dat. Although his father seemed tired from the past few days’ decisions, yesterday’s visitation, and setting up for the service, he appeared calm. Accepting.
“Eunice didn’t have to suffer through long-term illness or pain, like so many folks do,” his dat remarked. “And for that, we should be grateful.”
“Jah, you’re right, Dat. She went out in gut spirits and in her right mind.”
His father’s face, weathered from years of outdoor labor, crinkled with a fond smile. “You were the special light in her life, James. Your mamm loved the girls, of course, but she always loved you best.”
James curled in on himself, overwhelmed by the simple statement that he knew to be true. He’d expected to be the one comforting his dat, yet now it was his father’s arm around his shaking shoulders that kept him from collapsing beneath the weight of this loss.
