Emma Blooms At Last

by Naomi King

  And to think you wanted to stay home and catch up on your sleep.

  Sooner than Emma wanted, Sparky was pulling the sleigh up the hilly lane toward the Brubaker house. The kitchen window shone with the glow of a lamp, but the front room and the upstairs bedrooms were dark.

  “Let’s hope Bess and Mabel didn’t wait up,” Jerome said with a sigh. “I hope you don’t mind that I offered to see them home tomorrow.”

  “It was the proper thing to do. Especially since I didn’t hear mention of any men living at home.”

  “With Ammon gone, it’s just Mabel and Bess.” Jerome halted the mule outside the barn door, keeping his arm around her. “Considering how I’ve made my answer to Bess clear, it’s going to be a long, not-so-pleasant ride, but I’m going to ask Eddie and Pete to go along, too. Most likely, the Wengerds’ lane will need clearing, and maybe they’ll need some firewood split. After those chores are seen to . . .”

  “And truth be told, Mabel’s older sons should be doing them,” Emma murmured.

  “Then I can say I did what was right before I left them once and for all.” Jerome held her gaze, his eyes mere inches from hers. “But why am I talking about those two conniving women when I’m sitting with you, Emma? At last.”

  She didn’t have an answer. As his breath mingled with hers in wisps of white vapor, time stood still. “Denki so much for this sleigh ride, Jerome,” she whispered. “And for your patience with me, too.”

  “May I kiss you, Emma?”

  Her anxious thoughts shattered the mood Jerome had created so perfectly on this winter night. Oh, but she wanted to kiss him, yet she eased out of his arms. What if he found her kiss lacking? He was probably an expert kisser, so he’d know right away that she was a rank beginner. “Not yet,” Emma rasped. “Another time, maybe.”

  His sad expression filled her with immediate regret.

  “It’s too soon after your mamm’s passing,” Jerome murmured. “But I had to ask.”

  “Denki for understanding,” she replied in a tiny voice.

  “I’ll have that first kiss to look forward to, I hope.” Jerome scooted away from her, gazing toward the house. “Will you wait for me while I unhitch Sparky? So we can walk to the house together?”

  Relief and gratitude filled her. “Jah. I’d like that.”

  “Probably the last few moments I’ll have you all to myself. No telling who might be peeking out a window.”

  As Jerome led the mule to his stall, Emma ducked inside the barn door to escape the wind. Her thoughts whirled like the light, loose snow that skimmed the drifts. What a night it had been! She had so much to consider . . . so many images to run through her mind again and again in quiet moments. So many possibilities to pray about.

  Is Jerome the one? Do you love him? Could it come to that, if you gave him a chance?

  Emma gazed up at the vast indigo sky dotted with sparkling, pinpoint stars. She didn’t have an answer to that yet . . .

  But you’re asking the questions.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As everyone came to the table Sunday morning, Amanda was grateful that Jemima had made a variety of items for their breakfast—substantial food that would fuel the men when they went outside to clear the lane. Why was she not surprised that Mabel Wengerd found fault with this?

  “Shouldn’t be frying up mush of a Sunday morning,” their guest muttered when she saw Jemima at the stove. “That’s work.”

  Merle made a face. “You can’t think we’re going to eat it cold,” he said as he took his seat. “Besides, Jemima cooked it up yesterday.”

  “We’ve got plowing to do, and we’ll eat a hot breakfast,” Wyman stated. “Even though the bishop left a phone message last night saying church is called off, we’d be remiss if we didn’t get you and Bess home to Queen City—in case your own lane is snowed in,” he added in a purposeful tone.

  “Eddie and Pete have agreed to come along to help me clear it if need be,” Jerome chimed in. “I hope to have our lane and the gravel road passable by the time the county plow goes by on the blacktop. You and Bess should plan accordingly.”

  Bess appeared resigned to the fact that Jerome wanted nothing further to do with her, but her mother’s feathers were still ruffled.

  “And what of Emma?” Mabel demanded with a sniff. “Surely she and Merle should consider heading back to Cedar Creek as well, if you’re going to such an effort.”

  “Nah, Merle’s staying to play with us!” Simon piped up. “I’m tired of Chutes and Ladders, though, so it’s time to get out the Let’s Go Fishing game.”

  “But it’s fun to watch you slide down the chutes when you land on the squares that’re about bad choices, Simon,” Dora teased, her eyes bright.

  “Sundays are for spending with family and friends,” her twin said demurely, “and Emma and Merle are our gut friends.”

  “But if Dat says we’re to clear the lane first, I’m gonna eat three pieces of fried mush so I’ll be ready to help!” Simon declared. Gripping his fork and knife, he stood them on end on either side of his plate, eagerly awaiting his meal. The twins followed suit.

  Amanda turned toward the sink so the Wengerds wouldn’t catch her laughing at the kids’ insinuations. The Brubakers hadn’t discussed their opinions of last night’s uninvited guests aloud, knowing how voices carried through the heat grates in the floors and how the youngsters might repeat what the adults had said. But it was unanimous. Sunday or not—snow or not—the Wengerds were going home.

  Jerome and Wyman ate without much talk and then excused themselves to go outside. By the time Eddie, Pete, and Simon had finished eating, Merle insisted on joining them. “I can at least feed the horses.”

  “You can be my helper, Merle!” Simon insisted. “I know where all the rations and buckets and stuff are.”

  Soon, out of the barn came the plow, a V-shaped blade with a platform where Wyman stood behind the two large mules Jerome had hitched to it. While her husband tended to the lane, Amanda watched her nephew and the two older boys attack the walkways with snow shovels. She was glad Bess and her mamm excused themselves to get ready for their trip home, so she and the girls could wash the dishes without any more of Mabel’s negative remarks.

  Wyman and Jerome cleared the lane and the unpaved road to the country highway in record time. After the boys had tucked snow shovels, plus Eddie’s clothing for the coming week of painting in Cedar Creek, into their own rig, the little procession took off, with Jerome driving the Wengerd buggy. Wags circled the rigs in wide loops, barking exuberantly to send them off. Then he greeted the girls, who were heading outside with Simon to play in the snow.

  “Jerome’s got a long day ahead of him,” Jemima remarked as she watched out the window with Amanda and Emma.

  Vera and Lizzie had also gone outside, with Alice Ann in tow. The kids were building an igloo, so Amanda felt freer about talking. “It’s a wonder Mabel and Bess didn’t run off the road and wreck last night, the way the snow was piling up. They weren’t even sure where they were going, by the sound of it.”

  “Puh!” Jemima said as she put on a kettle for tea. “Sheer orneriness keeps folks like that going when normal, decent people would’ve known better. But I’ve sinned by judging them that way, and I ask the Lord’s forgiveness,” she added. Then she sighed ruefully. “I’m also sorry I sent that photo of Jerome’s mule team to the Connection, so Mabel could get ideas about the money he must be making.”

  “You couldn’t have foreseen how Mabel would react, Jemima. None of us were as charitable as we should’ve been,” Amanda admitted. Then she smiled at Emma. “But those two women are behind us now, and everyone else is outside. So . . . what went on in my pottery room last night?”

  “Bess came out in quite a huff,” Jemima said with a shake of her head. “I’m glad she didn’t start pitching Amanda’s dishes to the floor.”

>   Emma’s cheeks colored, but she managed a smile. “Bess overheard Jerome asking me to chat with him there after the kitchen was cleaned up,” she explained. “From what I can tell, she stuck to him like glue while he waited for me. And then she lit into him full-on, pressing him to the wall while she kissed him.”

  “My stars,” Amanda whispered. “To spite you, no doubt. I’m sorry, Emma.”

  “I’m surprised it wasn’t Jerome who was pitching dishes, then,” Jemima remarked. “He was fed up with her foolishness ages ago.”

  Emma shrugged. “I called Bess out on her behavior. Told her we all knew she and her mamm had come here to sweet-talk Jerome because they thought he was making gut money with his mules—and then she stormed out.”

  “Gut for you!” Amanda was pleased that Emma had taken such a stand. And it seemed a good sign as well that she and Jerome hadn’t returned home last night until after eleven. “It was a perfect evening for a ride in Atlee’s sleigh, ain’t so?” she hinted.

  Emma’s cheeks turned rosier. “Jah, it was. Jerome and I talked about a lot of things, and then . . . well, he wanted to kiss me gut night, but—but I was afraid,” she blurted. “I’ve never been kissed—not really kissed, by a fellow. And I didn’t want Jerome to notice if I did it wrong.”

  Bless you, Emma, you’re more sheltered than we thought. Amanda recalled how awkward it had been when she’d first met Wyman and had had to adjust to another man’s affections. She stood before Emma, gently grasping her shoulders. “The easiest thing is to let the man lead,” she murmured. “But while your mouth follows his, let your heart guide you—and ease you away, if you feel Jerome’s taking you too fast.”

  Emma’s eyes widened above her flushed cheeks. Then she looked away, still embarrassed. “Please don’t tell him I’ve never—Jerome and I had such a gut talk last night, but if he finds out—”

  The stomping of boots outside the kitchen door brought their intense conversation to a halt. Wyman and Merle stepped into the kitchen, their weathered faces a deep red from the cold. “Now we can savor our Sunday,” Wyman said with a good-natured chuckle. “Is it me, or were those two women the most bothersome biddies we’ve ever encountered?”

  Merle shook his head as he removed his stocking cap and coat. “Eunice had her cranky moments, but Mabel Wengerd takes the cake, as far as trying a man’s patience.” He paused, watching the kids through the glass in the door as they packed snow around the base of their igloo. “Hate to disappoint Simon, and I hate to be a bother to you on your day of rest, Wyman, but I’m thinking Emma and I ought to head home,” he said. “We’ve enjoyed your hospitality more than you know, but I hate to impose on Matt any more, expecting him to look after our animals.”

  Wyman clapped the older fellow on the back. “Let’s warm up with a cup of tea, and then I’ll be happy to take you. I bet you’re ready for some peace and quiet—and to sleep in your own bed tonight.”

  Merle chuckled. “Jah, there’s that. And you folks start a new work week tomorrow, along with James and Abby.” He walked stiffly toward the table as though his arthritis might be bothering him—not that he’d admit it. “I’d like to be home when they get back, to hear about their trip. And that way Abby won’t ask us where we went and what we were doing. Your quilts will still be a secret.”

  “He wants to catch up on his naps,” Emma remarked with an indulgent smile, “but it has been a wonderful-gut visit.”

  Amanda set the basket of muffins on the table, along with the goodies that remained from the quilting frolic, while Jemima poured hot water for tea. Within the hour, the Grabers were heading down the lane with Wyman, and the rest of her Sunday—the rest of her Sunday—awaited her. Vera, Lizzie, and Jemima were setting up chairs around the quilting frame, while Alice Ann began plucking scraps from the box of quilting fabrics they’d set on the floor for her. It was a satisfying, peaceful scene, after the previous evening with their unexpected company.

  At the kitchen window with Simon and the twins, Amanda watched Wyman’s rig disappear around the snowbank at the bottom of the lane. She wrapped her arms around the three of them. “You know, a game or two of Let’s Go Fishing sounds like a fine way to spend this snowy morning,” she said.

  “I’ll go set up the board!” Simon hurried toward the front room with the twins in his wake, but then he rushed back and grabbed Amanda around the waist. “I’m glad you’re playing with us today instead of making your dishes, Mamm! Sit by me, okay?”

  As Amanda smiled down into Simon’s expressive brown eyes, she realized yet again how blessed she was to be a part of this big, happy Brubaker family. What a joy, to be chosen by a child . . . to be welcomed into a simpler, more carefree world for these next few hours. It was an opportunity not to be wasted.

  * * *

  Emma settled against the carriage’s backseat, wrapped in the warmth of a quilt, as Wyman and her father conversed in the front. Like Dat, she looked forward to the comfort of her own bed. With all the commotion the Wengerds had caused, she hadn’t slept much last night.

  No, you were too excited to sleep, she thought with a smile. Hadn’t her evening with Jerome assured her that he wasn’t interested in Bess, or in anyone except her? In her mind, Emma reviewed the highlights of their sleigh ride: the warm strength of Jerome’s hand wrapped around hers, the life-changing secrets he’d revealed as they slid effortlessly across pastures of flawless white snow and stopped beside the evergreens, the moment he’d asked her for a kiss . . .

  “And while Jerome might jump into things feetfirst, you can’t fault him for being lazy or hard-hearted,” her dat was saying matter-of-factly.

  “You’ve got him pegged,” Wyman agreed. “When I first considered marrying Amanda, I had reservations about Jerome and how his wild notions might encourage my kids—especially Pete and Eddie—to go astray. But he’s matured a lot.”

  “Jah, he’s taken to your little ones, for sure,” Dat replied. “And what do you think of Jerome by now, Daughter? Surely you’ve changed your tune, considering how late you stayed out with him last night.”

  Emma’s eyes flew open. She’d nearly drifted off, and now her father was gazing over his shoulder at her, expecting her opinion. “Um, jah, he’s nice enough,” she hedged.

  While it had seemed natural to share her concerns—her secrets—with Amanda and Jemima, she wasn’t keen on discussing her romantic hopes and dreams with two men. Dat and Wyman would probably tell Jerome what she’d said, and Emma didn’t want to jinx her new relationship by talking about it too much. It was awfully early to be making any firm assumptions, after all. Jerome himself had said so.

  Dat’s raised eyebrows told her he’d expected a more enthusiastic affirmation of Jerome’s character and worthiness. Emma closed her eyes again and leaned her head against the buggy wall. Why was it any of Dat’s business, what she and Jerome had done on their outing?

  After they arrived home, Emma threw together a quick dinner of sandwiches, chowchow, and home-canned applesauce to eat before Wyman headed back to Bloomingdale. As she was washing the dishes, her father saw their friend off—and then he was standing at her elbow, peering intently at her.

  “You baffle me, Emma,” he said with a sigh. “A solid, well-off, gut-looking man is head over heels for you, yet you couldn’t care less. Well, it’s up to God now,” he declared. “Your mother couldn’t convince you to take up with Jerome, and I’m washing my hands of this whole disappointing business, too.”

  With that, he shuffled out to the front room and immediately fell asleep in his recliner.

  Emma sighed. When she’d finished in the kitchen, she stood gazing at Dat as his snoring got louder and steadier. In repose, his face looked deeply wrinkled . . . older than she cared to think about. He wouldn’t stir again until Abby and James returned.

  Was this how their life at home was to be now—too quiet and fraught with constant frustration?
Was she wrong to keep her hopeful feelings about Jerome to herself, knowing she’d disappointed her father?

  No, Dat’s got it right. This whole situation—with Jerome and with Dat—is in God’s hands now. I’ll deal with it one day at a time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Monday morning, Abby focused on the holly-print tablecloth she was hemming, pumping the machine’s treadle in her usual steady rhythm. While living in the Graber house was the right thing to do, it still felt different. Most days, by the time Emma and James had gone to work and Merle had finished his breakfast—and she’d cleaned up the kitchen by herself—she started her sewing more than an hour later than when she’d been single, working in her nook at the mercantile.

  But what’s an hour? It’s nothing, compared to what Merle, Emma, and James lost when Eunice died.

  Abby opened another package of the cranberry red bias tape she was using to finish the tablecloth’s edges. A banquet center on the other side of Clearwater had ordered eight of these long tablecloths, and she had two more to finish today so the banquet manager could pick them up by four o’clock. She was carefully lining up the hem and bias tape edges to begin sewing again, when a male voice interrupted her.

  “Knock, knock.”

  Abby glanced up. “Sam! And how are you this morning? Everything’s all right at home, I hope?”

  Her older brother gazed around her freshly painted sewing room. “Jah, the family’s fine,” he replied. Then he chuckled. “This bright yellow almost calls for sunglasses. Eddie told me it was intense.”

  Abby laughed. “It’s more color than we’re used to, jah, but it made James happy to choose it for me. Here, sit down.”