Emma Blooms At Last

by Naomi King

  When everyone was seated, the bishop began the funeral with several comforting verses of scripture. “‘Seek the Lord and His strength. Seek His face evermore,’ the psalmist tells us,” Vernon said, allowing his voice to resonate around the room. “And the prophet Isaiah reminds us to ‘Fear not, for I am with thee. Be not dismayed, for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee . . . I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’”

  As the simple service continued, James sat taller. He took in Vernon Gingerich’s eloquent message about eternal life in Jesus. He found strength in the words of the age-old hymns Sam Lambright and Preacher Abe Nissley recited, for the congregation didn’t sing on such somber occasions. After the service, they all made their way to the cemetery down the road, walking behind the black horse-drawn hearse that carried his mamm’s plain wooden coffin.

  They laid his mother to rest on the peaceful, frost-laced hillside where so many other family members and friends had been buried. As he gazed at the bleak hole in the earth, James was aware of how his arms ached from when he and his brothers-in-law had dug the grave by hand. Once again Vernon spoke comforting words from the Bible, keeping his remarks brief because folks were shivering in the wind. As Emma, Iva, and Sharon wept around him, James stood with Abby between him and Dat, knowing they would all draw strength from her in the coming days. Abby would now be the glue that held the Graber family together while he supported them with his carriage shop.

  James sighed, clasping Abby’s hand as they walked back to the greenhouse for dinner with the rest of the crowd. How could he show his appreciation to his new wife for the responsibilities she would take on so soon after they’d married? How could he express his love for all the ways Abby had rearranged her life to accommodate his needs? While it was customary for the family to eat first, James hung back, waiting while Abby and Emma spoke to the women who were serving the meal. When he noticed Eddie Brubaker going through the serving line, he got an idea.

  “I understand your painting inside the mercantile is going well,” James remarked. He smiled, gesturing at the teenager’s mounded plate. “Takes a lot of fuel to keep you going up and down the ladder, no doubt.”

  Eddie smiled. “It’s not the painting that’s the real work so much as clearing the shelves and moving the displays,” he remarked. “Sam started me in the upper level so I can get the hang of it before I move downstairs amongst more shoppers.”

  “The prep always takes more effort than the painting itself,” James agreed. “Say, what would you think about painting a couple of rooms at my place? We’ve talked about you coming over when you’ve finished Sam’s job, but what with Abby and me moving back in with Dat and Emma soon, I’d like to perk up the kitchen and the room where she’ll be sewing. Sooner rather than later.”

  “If it’s okay with Sam, I’ll get right on it. I’ll be going home right after we finish eating to spend Thanksgiving with my family, but then I’m coming back into Cedar Creek.” Eddie looked around the crowd, trying to spot the tall, gray-bearded storekeeper. “Truth be told, doing a couple of rooms at your place will be a snap compared to painting the mercantile. What color?”

  James gazed around the roomful of friends and family, all decked out in somber black just as his wife and sister would be for months to come. “I once told Abby she was made of love and sunshine,” he mused aloud, “so let’s go with yellow. Not pale like butter, but more like—like that lemon meringue pie your dat’s got.”

  James raised his hand in greeting as Wyman Brubaker nodded at him. It was good to see the head of that family appearing more confident and less worried—a state of mind James hoped to resume soon. “I’ll speak to Sam for you, and let’s not say anything to Abby, all right? I’d like it to be a surprise.”

  James managed to smile as he imagined the delight on his wife’s face when she saw the freshly painted rooms. Spotting Abby in the clutch of women who were refilling the steam table pans, he went to fetch her. Traditionally the men visited together while the women kept these functions flowing smoothly, yet it felt right to relieve Abby of her serving work at Mamm’s funeral lunch. Spending time together was the best elixir for both of them on such a difficult day.

  He tugged on Abby’s sleeve and got Emma’s attention as well. “How about if you girls eat with me?” he asked them. “Dat’s sitting with Sharon and Iva and their families. Amanda and the neighbor ladies have this meal under control, and you girls’ company is exactly what I need right now.”

  “That’s what I’ve tried to tell her, James,” Amanda called over to him. “Your mamm’s smiling down on you for thinking of it, too.”

  And wasn’t that a wonderful sentiment? James picked up a clean plate, gesturing for Abby and Emma to go ahead of him in the serving line. They had endured the worst now that the funeral service was behind them. Love and sunshine would again grace their days if they allowed the Lord’s light to guide them. James believed this with all his heart.

  * * *

  Jerome gazed across the crowded greenhouse, watching Emma as she picked at her plateful of food. Sorrow seemed to envelope and insulate her, as though she were enclosed in a bubble that shut out James, Abby, and everyone else around her. What could he say to make Emma feel better? How could he express his own sorrow in a way that wouldn’t send her skittering across the room to escape him? He’d hung back while others had conveyed their condolences, but he wouldn’t go home until he’d spoken to her.

  Emma rose from the chair beside James and carried her half-full plate to where the servers were scraping and stacking the dirty dishes. It wasn’t the ideal situation in which to tell her his thoughts, but Jerome walked over to join her. “Emma, your mamm was a wonderful-gut woman, and I’ll miss her,” he murmured. “I think my favorite recollection of Eunice was the look on her face when we took that wagon ride to Wyman’s place last month, when I was training the eight-mule hitch. She and your dat were the picture of happiness that day, and I’m so glad I got to know her.”

  Emma blinked, and a smile slowly overtook her face. “Mamm had such a gut time on that ride, Jerome. She talked about it for days.”

  He nodded, not wanting to ruin a good moment. While he wished he could spend more time with Emma soon, it wouldn’t be the proper time to suggest another outing. “And how’s your dat doing? He seems to be holding up pretty well.”

  “He’s got a lot of folks to keep him talking now,” Emma replied as she scraped another plate. “But I’m concerned that he might become forgetful again once Mamm’s absence sinks in. She fussed at him more than we liked, but she kept him on his toes, too.”

  Jerome bit back an offer to come to the Graber place every now and again, to visit with Merle and help with chores, because Emma would probably see it as his way to be around her. After his shopping trip with her, he’d thought a lot about his behavior . . . about how to approach Emma differently. He was glad when Aunt Amanda came over with a pull cart for the scraped dishes, so they could be hauled to the house to be washed.

  “Emma, it’s only proper to postpone Saturday’s quilting frolic,” Amanda said, glancing around to be sure Abby wasn’t close by to overhear.

  Emma sighed forlornly. “Jah, I’m in no frame of mind to drive to Bloomingdale.”

  “I’ll come get you—whenever you’re ready,” Jerome blurted. He immediately regretted it, too, because Emma stepped away from him.

  Amanda smiled ruefully at him and put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “We still want you to come, as I know how much you want to work on our quilts,” she insisted. “But we shouldn’t wait too long to finish Abby and James’s wedding present, either. As winter sets in, who knows how the roads might be?”

  “Jah, there’s that.” Emma smiled feebly. “Denki for thinking of me. I—I’ll let you know, Amanda.”

  With that, Emma wandered back toward the tables to collect more dishes. Plenty of other girls were doing that
job on a day when the daughter of the deceased wasn’t expected to help, yet Jerome understood Emma’s desire to keep herself occupied as a way to get through this difficult day. He sensed it might be a long while before she recovered from the shock and grief of her mother’s passing, for even though they’d bickered and fussed at each other, Emma and Eunice had been very close.

  As he watched her walk between the tables, he saw Emma withdrawing into her own private bubble again. Such a pretty young woman she was, even wearing black from head to toe. Jerome sincerely hoped she wouldn’t hide herself away in mourning for an entire year, as custom allowed, just as he wondered how he could get back in her good graces.

  With a sigh, Jerome grasped the handle of the wooden cart. “Let me take this to the house for you,” he told his aunt. “I can do that without upsetting anyone, anyway.”

  “Denki, Nephew.” Amanda leaned closer to his ear. “Between you and me, we should use the quilting frolic as our way of prying Emma out of that house, as she surely won’t be starting her job at the store yet. Will you help me with that?”

  “I’ll do my very best,” Jerome replied. “It might take all of you Brubakers and a team of mules to keep Emma in circulation now, but we’ve got to try.”

  Chapter Eleven

  As Emma, James, and their dat waved good-bye to her two sisters and their families Friday morning, relief washed over her. The Lambrights had hosted all of them for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday, and the men had removed the pew benches from the house, so today—at last—she could collapse. James would return to work in his shop and Abby would be packing up her sewing supplies at the mercantile. The newlyweds wouldn’t be moving in until this evening, so Emma figured to relax and let Dat do the same. What with all the food their neighbors had brought, she wouldn’t have to cook for days.

  Her brother waved one last time at the departing rigs and then steered her and Dat back into the house, out of the cold. Even though he’d taken Mamm’s death hard, James smiled as though he had a secret. “Eddie Brubaker will be here this morning to paint the kitchen and whichever room Abby will be sewing in,” he said. “It’s a surprise for her, but I figured everyone would feel cheerier in a bright yellow kitchen—”

  “Bright yellow?” As Emma gazed toward the large kitchen, where the pale blue paint had faded to a dull gray after several years, all she could think of was how much more work this surprise—this intrusion—would mean for her. “What possessed you to choose that color? And today of all days, when I’m in no mood to shift everything out of the cabinets and off the countertops.”

  James gently grasped her shoulders. With a new fringe of beard bristling along his jawline, he looked downright rakish, and far too cheerful. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Emmie,” he assured her. “You three sisters put everything away after breakfast, and Eddie’s experienced at using drop cloths and tape to keep his paint on the walls where it belongs. Let him do all the work—that’s what I’m paying him for.”

  Emma exhaled impatiently, but what could she do? James had obviously taken it upon himself to cheer everyone up without consulting her. She shrugged out of his grasp as she felt tears welling up. Oh, but she longed for some private time to let her feelings out.

  James, however, seemed oblivious to how he’d upset her. “Now—where had you and Abby figured on putting her machine and sewing supplies? I can be figuring out where to put the furniture from that room—”

  “I’ll help you with that, Son,” Dat insisted. He’d been following this conversation closely, and his bushy eyebrows rose in anticipation. “And while we’re shifting things around, what would you and Abby think of taking the big bedroom upstairs and I’ll start bunking down here?” He pointed toward the short hallway in front of them. “Seems only right for me to move into the dawdi haus, where my folks used to be, and let you become the head of the family now that you’re married, James. And it’ll be safer, too, what with me not going up and down the stairs.”

  Emma bit back another protest. Dat had slowed down a lot, and he wasn’t always steady on his feet, so it made perfect sense for him to move downstairs. He’d have his own bathroom, too. But all of this changing around meant even more work for her—carrying his clothes downstairs, not to mention cleaning out the dawdi haus closets where Mamm had stored odds and ends.

  “Since Wyman is driving Eddie into Cedar Creek this morning, he can help us shift your furniture,” James mused aloud. “I can ask Noah Coblentz to help, if we need him. There’s not a lot for him to do in the shop today, so we might as well put his younger muscle to work. I say let’s do it!”

  Emma clapped her mouth shut. Without Mamm or Abby here, she was outnumbered and outvoted. As she went into the kitchen to figure out what she could serve for dinner to whomever would be working there all day, she heard the front door open. Wyman and Eddie greeted Dat and her brother, their voices low and friendly.

  “And gut morning from me as well!” Jerome called out. “Merle, when I heard Eddie would be painting at your place, I came along to help him move furniture so you wouldn’t have to.”

  “You’re an answer to a prayer,” her dat replied in a chipper voice. “James and I were just figuring out who would move my things into the dawdi haus, so I pick you!”

  Emma seriously considered disappearing into the cellar . . . maybe hiding in a closet so no one would find her. Jerome was the last person she wanted to see today. Why did she sense his appearance was no coincidence—as though he’d been looking for a reason to come and coax her into a better mood? Maybe ask her out on another date?

  James clapped Jerome on the back. “You’ve already been a big help to us, what with directing folks where to park for Mamm’s funeral and then working with us to take down tables and chairs after the lunch,” he remarked. “Denki for all your kindness.”

  “Your mamm was a special lady,” Jerome replied. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Emma gripped the handle on the fridge, blinking back tears. Jerome’s voice had quivered a bit . . . His affection for Mamm had always been sincere, and he had taken on a lot of the physical labor required for the funeral. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Better improve your attitude. Like it or not, you’ll have a houseful of men helping us reshuffle and resettle, all day long.

  As she was assessing which casseroles and sides to serve for dinner, Eddie peeked into the kitchen.

  “Hey there, Emma,” he said cautiously. “How about if I tape the cabinet edges and prep the kitchen now, and then paint it this afternoon, so you won’t be interrupted while you’re cooking dinner?” he suggested. “Then, if you’ll show me the other room you want done, I could paint that one first.”

  Emma gave him a tremulous smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Eddie.”

  “It was Jerome’s idea, truth be told.”

  Emma caught herself before she overreacted, thank goodness, because then Jerome was peering at her from behind the Brubaker boy.

  “It’s gut to see you, Emma,” Jerome said. “You’re most likely exhausted after these past difficult days, so we’ve all agreed to be helpful today without making more work than we’re worth. If you or your dat have chores that need doing, just say the word and I’ll see to them.”

  Emma tried to find a smile. “That’s very kind of you,” she murmured. “Eddie, I’ll let you do your taping here in the kitchen while James and I decide on the other room you’ll paint.”

  With so many fellows helping, the morning passed quickly and an amazing amount of furniture got moved. Dat seemed as happy as a cat at milking time with his new quarters. Emma did her best to keep coffee and cookies available to their helpers and to stay out of Jerome’s sight while he and Wyman and James did the heavy lifting. When Abby came in for dinner at noon, James whisked her upstairs to the freshly painted guest room they had converted into her new sewing nook.

  As Emma was setting plates on t
he table, she heard Abby’s exclamations of pleasure. Jerome, Wyman, and Dat came into the kitchen to wash up before they ate.

  “I understand this is a surprise for the newlyweds, so I’ll speak quickly and quietly,” Wyman said to her. “Amanda’s hoping you can come to Bloomingdale for your quilting frolic next Saturday.”

  “That’s the fifth of December,” Jerome clarified. “And my offer to come fetch you and Merle still stands.”

  “That would be just dandy!” Dat said as he grabbed for a hand towel. “I can’t wait to play board games with Cora and Dora—and Simon will be there this time.”

  “But—but that’s so soon after—oh, I’m just not ready for any socializing.” Emma’s cheeks prickled with heat. She hurried over to pull casserole pans from the oven. Why did these fellows think she’d want to go, go, go? It was enough of a surprise, dealing with all this painting and moving today, let alone figuring to spend next Saturday at the Brubaker place.

  Jerome was suddenly at her side, easing the steaming pan of chicken spaghetti from between her hands. His dark hair glimmered and his eyes sparkled as he focused on her. Even after a morning of hefting furniture, he smelled clean and fresh . . . such an enticing scent.

  And why are you noticing how gut Jerome smells? It’s Dat who needs your time and attention—Dat you should be thinking of, because he’s going to be so lost without Mamm, once all this company goes home.

  “I’m sorry if we’ve upset you, Emma,” Jerome murmured. Then he removed the pans of chili mac and ham with pineapple slices from the oven and set them on the table for her. “We were just passing along Amanda’s suggestion. Think about it as long as you need to.”

  She nodded, aware of how considerate Jerome was being today. He was much easier to dislike when he was being his bold, brassy, swaggering self—the sort of man who paraded down the road with an eight-mule hitch, showing them off.