Emma Blooms At Last

by Naomi King

  The heavy clomping of feet out on the porch announced that Wyman had returned and was knocking the snow from his boots. When he opened the door, Simon and the twins rushed inside around him, pink cheeked and ecstatic about the snowman they’d made. Lizzie followed Wyman inside, looking as though she’d had as much fun playing in the snow as the younger kids.

  “It’s a gut thing you and your dat are still here, Emma,” the big man announced as he hung his wraps near the door. “The wheels of my rig were icing up as I drove home. You’ll be staying over tonight.”

  Emma knew better than to argue with Wyman, as it was already getting dark—too dangerous to drive in such weather. Yet her insides clenched. She hadn’t brought any extra clothes . . . didn’t have Dat’s robe and pajamas, much less their toothbrushes. “But what of our horses and chickens? James won’t be home to tend them, and we’d figured on being back to do the chores.”

  Wyman stooped until his eyes were level with hers. With his tall, stocky build, dark, tousled waves of hair, and the thick beard framing his face, he wasn’t a fellow anyone would contend with, yet his smile reminded her of the teddy bears in the mercantile. “I just spoke with Jerome and your dat out in the barn, and they’ll be calling somebody about your chores,” he said gently. “So settle in and be our guest, Emma. We’re so happy to have you and Merle here.”

  “Jah, we love having company!” Cora said.

  “And you can go to church with us tomorrow!” Dora added.

  Church! Once again Emma realized she and Dat weren’t going to be presentable, wearing the more comfortable clothes they’d had on all day. As she began setting plates around the table for supper, her hands were trembling so badly that some of the dishes landed harder than she intended. “I hate to sound like a worrywart,” she murmured to Amanda, “but we’ve not got any clothes for tomorrow, or—”

  “I’m thinking Vera or Mamm’s dresses will fit you,” Lizzie said as she hung up her wraps. “And your dat’s about the same size as Eddie.”

  “We’ve got a couple of Atlee’s Sunday suits still hanging in the back closet, too,” Amanda said after a moment. “Truth be told, though, with church set to be clear over at Bishop Lapp’s, and his place being a long way down a gravel road that won’t be plowed out—”

  “We can stay home?” Simon clapped his hands gleefully. “Merle can bunk in my room! It’ll be a sleepover—but no girls allowed!”

  “And since Lizzie and I each have a double bed,” Vera chimed in, “we’ll share one, and you can sleep in the other one, Emma. So it’s all gut!”

  “And we’re all safe and sound,” Amanda said. “That’s the most important part.”

  Emma managed a smile. Who wouldn’t be grateful at the way these friends had so quickly seen to her and Dat’s needs? And it was a relief not to be heading home on roads that took them an hour in the best of daylight conditions—and she wouldn’t have to whip up something for supper when they finally got there, or invite Jerome to stay over at their place because it would be too late for him to drive back to Bloomingdale. This was the first snowstorm of the winter, and it wouldn’t be the last, so Emma reminded herself that she’d better be ready for the shoveling and the extra effort the next few months would require.

  As Jerome came inside with the other fellows, his expression told her the inclement weather suited him just fine. “Matt Lambright’s headed to your place to do your animal chores,” he said in a low voice. “And I bet we’ll not be venturing to church in the morning, either, so . . . what would you think of a sleigh ride after supper? Now that the wind’s dying down, it’ll be a perfect evening for one.”

  Emma got lost in Jerome’s intense, dark-eyed gaze. Maybe Dat and Amanda had pulled their strings to get her to the Brubakers’ place today, and now Mother Nature was conspiring to keep her here overnight, yet a sleigh ride sounded like the perfect end to this day. “Denki for asking me, Jerome. Everyone’s been so kind to us today.”

  “And that will continue for as long as you’ll allow it, Emma,” he whispered.

  Emma sucked in her breath. Jerome wasn’t a foot away, right here in the kitchen where the whole family could see him flirting with her. Yet something about that tickled her as much as it scared her . . .

  After giving thanks, everyone passed bowls of kraut and sausages, along with stewed tomatoes, baked acorn squash, and fried apples. Pete and Eddie were telling their dat how they’d gotten their deer, when a loud pounding on the kitchen door made everyone jump. Vera hurried over to answer it, but before she got there, two figures bundled in black coats and bonnets, with scarves around their faces, burst inside. The snow and cold air came with them.

  “This is the Lambright place, jah?” one of them demanded in a muffled voice.

  “We found it, Mamma! Jerome’s right there at the table, sure as God made little green apples!” the other one replied.

  Emma caught Jerome’s confused look as he slowly stood up. Then his face paled. “Bess Wengerd?” he rasped as the two women peeled the wraps from their faces. “And Mabel? What brings you all the way from Queen City on such a nasty night?”

  “Let me take your coats,” Amanda said as she went over to help them. She shared a wide-eyed glance with Jerome, as though she were just as shocked as he was by their arrival.

  “I’ll set a couple more places,” Vera said. “We just sat down to eat—”

  “Even if supper was what we came for, I’ve hardly been able to swallow a bite these past couple of years,” the older woman interrupted in a nasal whine. “Just sick about the way none of the fellows want to court my Bess, after the way Jerome backed out on marrying her. Ruined her reputation, he did—and her chances of making another match, too.”

  Emma’s fork clattered to her plate. The Brubakers all sat straighter as they gawked at this mother and daughter from Jerome’s past. Who could have guessed anyone would have made such a long drive in the snow—much less two women who would need to stay the night? While Emma felt bad that Jerome had been caught off guard, the evening now promised to be more interesting than she’d anticipated. She had wondered about the fiancées he’d jilted, and now she would have some answers—some insight into how Jerome treated a girl he’d once intended to marry.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jerome struggled to corral his stampeding thoughts. Never in his wildest nightmares had he figured on seeing Bess Wengerd and her meddling mother again, but there was no turning them away on such a hazardous night. “Bess and Mabel Wengerd,” he announced by way of introduction, “this is the Brubaker home now, on account of how my aunt Amanda has remarried.”

  He quickly went around the table naming names, until he reached Emma. And how was he to explain her, considering how Mabel had so blatantly stated her case against him? “These are our gut friends Merle and Emma Graber from Cedar Creek,” Jerome said. “Emma’s been quilting with—”

  “Merle’s been playing games with us kids!” Simon blurted. His brown eyes resembled shiny brown buttons as he took in the two women at the other end of the table. “Him and Emma are sad ’cause Emma’s mamm just died, so we’ve been cheering them up.”

  “And Jerome’s real sweet on Emma,” Dora announced.

  “And we all like her a lot!” Cora chimed in with a decisive nod.

  The bottom fell out of Jerome’s stomach, but what could he say? In their inimitable way, the twins had only spoken the truth. Mabel Wengerd stiffened as she and Bess focused so intently on poor Emma that her face turned the color of the stewed tomatoes.

  “You Grabers have my deepest sympathy,” Mabel said stiffly. “We lost my husband—Bess’s dat—last spring, so we understand your grief.”

  “We appreciate your concern,” Merle murmured. Then he looked at them more closely, while Wyman was placing two additional chairs at the end of the table for them. “Are you ladies any relation to the Wengerds who run the pallet fac
tory in Queen City? I’ve got a couple of daughters who live not far from there,” he remarked. “Looks to be quite a large operation, and I understand they supply wooden crates and pallets for a lot of warehouses around the Midwest.”

  Mabel brightened. “My two oldest boys run it, jah,” she replied. “Started there after they got out of school, cutting the boards and building the crates and pallets, so they know the business backward and forward.”

  When the two Wengerds took their seats and began to fill their plates, Jerome sat down as well. He hadn’t missed the speculative way Mabel had eyed Merle when she learned he was a widower, but that was the least of his concerns. How could he find out the reason they’d shown up here, out of the blue? He hadn’t so much as said hello or heard from Bess in nearly two years . . .

  “So, what brings you ladies out this way?” Wyman asked as he resumed his place at the head of the table. “Even in the best of weather, it’s a three-hour haul from Queen City.”

  Jerome gazed gratefully at Wyman for asking the obvious question. He noticed how—just as she had when they were courting—Bess deferred to her mother when it came to the important issues. Matter of fact, Bess hadn’t made a peep since she’d first spotted him at the table. And just as she had when he’d been courting her daughter, Mabel Wengerd took her time about responding, to make sure everyone was paying attention to her opinions. For a woman who hadn’t been able to eat since he’d broken up with Bess, she seemed to have found her appetite readily enough. Mabel forked up two big chunks of sausage, a mound of kraut, and then filled the rest of her plate with fried apples before snatching two thick slices of bread from the basket.

  “Couldn’t help but notice the write-up in the Connection magazine about Jerome’s fancy eight-mule hitch,” Mabel finally replied. “Before we realized the weather was getting bad, we figured to stop by and offer our congratulations. By the looks of that photograph, you’ve come a long way with your mule-training business, Jerome. That was quite the impressive team.”

  “Jah, it was!” Merle replied. “Got to ride on that wagon myself, and every mule stepped in time with the others. It was like having our own one-wagon parade.”

  As Jerome watched the two Wengerds’ faces, he was coming to some unfortunate conclusions. It wasn’t his place to judge, or to assume what Bess and her mamm’s real motivation was for coming all the way to Bloomingdale. But he sensed that his success with his mules, made so public in a magazine, suggested that he was making good money . . . and that he’d be a better catch now, even if he’d supposedly ruined Bess’s reputation. Mabel apparently saw their visit as a chance for him to redeem himself—not that he had any such inclinations. While these thoughts crossed Jerome’s mind, Wyman’s expression suggested that the same suspicions were occurring to him.

  “It was a fine, fun hayride we had that day!” Dora crowed.

  “Jerome brought Emma and her dat and our friends from Cedar Creek over so we could ride, too!” Cora recounted with a wide grin.

  “And he’s teaching me to drive his mules,” Simon added happily. “Now that we’ve moved here to our new mamm’s place, we don’t never want to leave—because Jerome’s here!”

  While the kids were recounting that same exciting wagon ride with his mules, Jerome pondered the Wengerds’ situation . . . dug a little deeper into his memory of that family. If Mabel’s two older sons now owned their dat’s pallet factory—a large, long-established business—were they not supporting their widowed mother and unmarried sister? Even if the business was not hugely profitable, Mabel and Bess would still be those fellows’ responsibility.

  So what’s really going on here? As the mealtime conversation continued, with Mabel quizzing Wyman and Amanda about what they did for a living, it all came back to him: Jerome had always felt Bess and her mother were joined at the hip, which meant Bess couldn’t carry on much of a conversation unless her mamm was nearby. And when Mabel said, “Jump,” she expected everyone else to ask, “How high?” and then exceed her expectations.

  Jerome had not badmouthed Bess or in any way ruined her reputation, for he’d behaved honorably as they’d courted. She was a very attractive girl, with dark blond hair, flawless skin, and adoring blue eyes, so why weren’t other fellows taking her out? Had all her dates backed away from Mabel, just as he had?

  “And your bishop allows you to make pottery?” Mabel asked shrilly. “My stars, in our district such an artsy pursuit would be considered sinful!”

  The kitchen got so quiet that the stilted tick of the battery clock sounded loud. It was time to rescue this situation—and his aunt.

  Jerome gazed directly at Mabel. “We all do our best with the gifts the gut Lord gives us. And we abide by what our bishops allow,” he stated. “I’m sorry you’ve lost your husband—and your dat,” he added with a nod at Bess. “Ammon Wengerd was a fine man. I missed seeing his obituary, or I’d have sent you a card and a memorial contribution. We’ll make a place for you to stay the night, and I’ll see that you get home tomorrow when the roads have been cleared.”

  Bess fluttered her eyelashes as her mamm coyly covered her heart with her hand. “That’s mighty kind of you, Jerome,” Mabel chirped. “Ammon always regarded you as a fine, upstanding young man.”

  Jerome put on a patient smile. If the two Wengerd women were getting their hopes up for a romantic reunion between him and Bess, they would be sorely disappointed.

  * * *

  Could this situation get any more bizarre? To avoid further attention from their unexpected guests, Emma kept her eyes on her food as Mabel Wengerd took control of the suppertime conversation. But once everyone finished eating, the men would go to the front room while the women would redd up the kitchen . . . and Bess’s outspoken mother would probably make Emma her next target while Jerome couldn’t hear what was being said.

  Emma felt sorry for Jerome. He’d done nothing to provoke the Wengerds’ visit, and while she’d often considered Jerome flashy and a bit on the feisty side, he wasn’t the sort of man who’d drag a girl’s reputation through the mud. Just twenty minutes at the table with Mabel had given her a pretty good idea of why Jerome had backed out of his engagement, especially if he and Bess had followed the old tradition of not meeting each other’s family until after they’d decided to marry.

  Amanda stood up, looking a little strained. “Vera, if you and Lizzie will start the dishes, I’ll freshen the guest room.”

  “Jah, we can do that, Mamm.” Lizzie went to the sink straight away to run the dishwater. Emma decided her best strategy would be to stay busy and keep her head down, rather than getting caught up in Mabel and Bess’s scheming.

  “Jemima, how can I help you with tomorrow’s breakfast?” she asked. “It seems the snowstorm’s brought you four more mouths than you’d figured on feeding.”

  The gray-haired woman smiled gratefully at her. “I’ll take some ham slices out of the deep freeze, and let’s you and I stir up a batch of muffins. We can use the apples in that bowl.”

  “Bess, this would be the perfect time for you to get reacquainted with Jerome, out by the fire,” Mabel suggested loudly. “We’ve got plenty of help here in the kitchen without you, dear.”

  Emma bit back a smile as she went to the counter where the apples were. Could Mrs. Wengerd possibly be any more obvious about her intentions? She jumped when someone grasped her shoulder.

  “Emma, when you’ve finished in here, will you meet me in Aunt Amanda’s pottery room?” Jerome murmured close to her ear. “I’d like a word with you about—”

  “Jerome, I’ll be waiting. On the love seat,” Bess cooed as she walked right past them. “We have so much to catch up on, you and I.”

  Emma frowned at the soft-spoken blonde. She didn’t like the Wengerds’ using Jerome as a pawn—and she didn’t want to get caught up in their game playing, either. She’d felt Mabel and Bess sizing her up during supper, conside
ring her an easy crumb to sweep under the rug . . .

  “Jah, I’ll be there,” she replied. “Give me about fifteen minutes, and we’ll have Jemima’s muffins in the oven.”

  Bless him, Jerome looked grateful that she’d agreed to spend time with him. Emma wanted to hear his side of the story about his engagement to Bess. Here was her chance to clear away the objections she’d expressed when her parents, James, and Abby had encouraged her to date Jerome. If this handsome, fun-loving fellow didn’t answer her questions about Bess in a straightforward, sincere way, then Emma would know he wasn’t worth her consideration.

  And isn’t it just a wee bit exciting—and daring—that he wants to meet you away from the others? To talk with you instead of with the pretty girl he was once in love with? You might be in mourning, but you’re not dead . . .

  As she chopped apples and walnuts for the muffins, Emma felt herself anticipating her talk with Jerome, actually looking forward to spending time alone with him. Was it because another—very pretty—young woman was trying to woo him? Or because Emma was sincerely interested in what Jerome would say about his feelings for Bess . . . and maybe for her? By the time she and Jemima had poured the thick, cinnamon-spiced batter into muffin tins, Emma was thrumming with curiosity. She sensed that whatever she learned during this private chat might well change her attitude and set the course for her future outings with Jerome—the course for her future.

  When Emma entered the lantern-lit room where Amanda made her pottery, however, she was not expecting to see Bess Wengerd there with Jerome. At just that moment, the blonde launched herself at him, too—pinning him against a wall, pressing herself against him to claim him with a searing kiss. Jerome stood with his arms outstretched, not holding Bess—but not pushing her away, either.