by Naomi King
“And you know what?” Abby interrupted. “We can wait until you’re ready to use these dishes Amanda made—or even wait until you marry someday. We didn’t mean to upset you, Emma.”
Emma was ashamed of her outburst and her uncharitable attitude, but she wanted to be surrounded by familiar, beloved belongings. Was that so wrong? She sighed, resting her head in her hands. If only she’d kept her mouth shut . . . If only she could go home and go to bed . . .
“This same situation came up at the Brubaker place, when Amanda and Jemima wanted to use some of their own kitchen equipment but Vera didn’t,” Vernon recalled.
Before the bishop could elaborate, Dat sat forward in his armchair. “Jah, I remember that fuss between Wyman’s daughter and Amanda, and I’ll not have it repeated at our place,” he declared. “We’ve welcomed Abby into our home, and—except for using a room for her sewing—this is the first time she’s asked for any adjustment on our part.”
“I’m so sorry,” Emma murmured. “I spoke out of turn without—”
“And I believe the real problem,” Vernon interrupted gently, “is that you haven’t had nearly enough time to adjust to your mother’s passing, dear Emma. You’ve been so busy helping Sam that you haven’t allowed yourself to heal from your profound loss—and the rest of us haven’t allowed you that time, either.”
While the bishop’s words rang true, Emma was embarrassed that everyone in the room was watching her so closely. “There’s that, jah, but I really do enjoy the work,” she protested in a tremulous voice. “I’m just tired from—”
“Too many hours in the store,” Sam finished her sentence. “While I truly appreciate the way you’ve taken over my bookkeeping, and you’ve been filling bags of our baking supplies and bulk foods so Gail can wait on the customers, I can tell you’re worn out, Emma.”
“Working in the mercantile takes a lot of energy,” Abby joined in as she reached over to grasp Emma’s hand. “That’s why Sam suggested you could work mornings until you got accustomed to spending so much time on your feet. You’ve done a wonderful-gut job, Emma. It’s not your way to lash out, so I know you must be more exhausted than you’re letting on.”
Emma chuckled sadly. “You’ve always made running the store look so easy, Abby. But jah, after these past two days of going up and down the workroom ladder, shifting bins and filling bags, I’m tired,” she admitted. “Really, really tired.”
After a few moments of considering the situation, Vernon leaned toward Emma in his armchair. His face was lit up with such compassion, such wisdom, that she couldn’t look away from him.
“What if you did Sam’s bookkeeping at home?” he asked. “Seems to me you could still be a big help, and meanwhile you’d be keeping your dat company—especially with Abby in the store for the next several days.”
Emma considered this. “Well, I’ve always worked on James’s accounts at the kitchen table,” she remarked. “I could fill out Sam’s order forms, too—and I’d be home to fix the meals that way. With both of us girls working yesterday, it was a rush to put something on the table for supper after Abby and I got home.”
“Works for me, having you home again,” Dat said with a grin. “Nobody wants to eat my cooking, and I was wondering if it might come to that.”
As everyone chuckled, Emma felt her shoulders relaxing. As much as she’d enjoyed taking on the challenge of working at the store, Vernon’s solution made a lot of sense. She had proven to herself that she could do something besides look after her parents and the housekeeping chores, after all—and she would still be doing valuable work for Sam.
“There’s our answer,” Sam said with a nod. “And the ledger’s all caught up, so I don’t want you coming over for the rest of this week’s receipts until Friday, Emma. And I won’t take any fussing about that.”
Relief washed over Emma like a balm. She was pleased that Sam valued her work—and that everyone in the room valued her. When she got home, she went to bed and sank into a deep, satisfying sleep.
In her dreams, she sat in the sleigh with Jerome again. And he was smiling at her.
Chapter Twenty-one
Jerome was heading toward the phone to call Emma, but when the barn door slid open so a buggy could pull in, he remained in the wide center aisle with one of his recently born mules. Several times since the weekend he’d intended to contact the pretty young lady in Cedar Creek who’d captured his heart—and why hadn’t he? In all his years of dating, he couldn’t recall wanting to do everything just right to please a woman.
“Hey there, Jerome!” Wyman called out. He closed the door and unhitched his horse. “How’re your foals doing in this cold weather?”
“They prefer the barn to the corral,” Jerome answered with a laugh. He kept his hand on the foal’s fuzzy back, reassuring her in the presence of a different man who had a booming voice. “Can’t say as I blame them on such a blustery day.”
“Jah, Pete and Lizzie were glad for the ride to school this morning, too. Seemed logical to take them, since I was dropping Vera off at Cletus Yoder’s place.” Wyman patted his draft horse as it headed toward its stall. “I have a hard time believing she’s old enough to be working. Seems like only yesterday she was about as tall as your foal, and just as skittish.”
“Jah, this little girl’s jumpy, but she’s got the sweetest temperament of the three,” Jerome remarked as he kept his hand on her back. “Vera seemed excited about working there, at breakfast. She’s a gut girl,” he added. “Level head on her shoulders.”
“Cletus’s wife was glad to have her. They’ve got family coming in for Christmas, so a lot of rooms need freshening up.” Wyman gazed at him then. “I’m thinking about a trip to the Cedar Creek Mercantile, or anyplace I might find a gift for Amanda. This being our first Christmas together, I’d like to get her something special. Any suggestions?”
Jerome’s eyebrows rose. If he went along with Wyman, he could visit with Emma—except he wouldn’t really be able to spend time talking to her alone. “Isn’t that the hardest part about hooking up with a woman? Figuring out what she likes?” he teased.
Wyman’s laughter rang around the barn’s rafters. “It hasn’t gotten any easier with my second wife than it was with my first,” he agreed. “Care to come along? I’m thinking a certain young lady in Cedar Creek would be happy to see you. Or at least Emma appeared to be sweet on you.”
Jerome knew an invitation to chat about his love life when he heard one, but he preferred to keep his budding relationship with Emma to himself. “I don’t want to interrupt her while she’s working,” he hedged. “And if I’m to have one of these young mules ready for James and Abby, I’d better keep working with them while they’re so open to learning.”
“Jah, mules are like women that way. One day they’ll do anything you ask, and the next day they’re liable to bare their teeth at you.” Wyman chuckled. “That would be Jemima I’m talking about, not Amanda.”
Jerome guided the little foal back to the stall where her mother waited. “Some of them don’t improve with age,” he agreed. “With animals, you can imprint them from birth if you’re lucky, but women have had several years to get set in their ways. I’ve seen a gut many husbands who were getting trained by their wives, rather than vice versa.”
“You’ve got that right.” Wyman led one of his other Belgians to the buggy so he’d have a fresh horse for his shopping trip. “If anybody asks, I’ll be checking the progress on the elevator. Weaver’s crew should be ready to build the bins, now that the foundations are in place. No need to mention that I’m also shopping.”
Jerome smiled, watching the foal rush to her mother to nurse. He never tired of observing his mules and mares interacting, for he gained valuable insights into the way each foal received instructions—training methods he emulated, as far as where a mare nuzzled or nipped her baby to guide his or her behavior. When he heard th
e rapid patter of footsteps on the snow-packed driveway, along with a woof from Wags, Jerome was glad he’d turned the foal back in with her mamm. Simon adored the little mules, but he hadn’t yet learned to curb his excitement around them.
The barn door slid open. “Dat!” the five-year-old cried. “I saw you drive in!”
Wyman laughed and launched Simon to his shoulder. “Have you spent enough time with the hens this morning, Son? If you can keep a secret—”
“Jah! My lips are zipped!” Simon drew his finger across his mouth.
“I’ll take you along to see the new elevator. And then we’ll go to the mercantile,” Wyman continued in a low, purposeful voice. “Just us guys, all right? You can’t let on to the twins, or they’ll feel bad that we didn’t take them along.”
Simon nodded exuberantly, his hands clapped over his mouth.
Wyman grinned, obviously pleased that his boy had joined him. “See you later, Jerome. Tell Jemima not to wait dinner on us.”
Jerome watched the big Belgian back the buggy out into the brightness of a sunny winter day. After he slid the barn door shut, he gazed at the phone on the wall. His hand went toward it, yet he pulled it back.
Emma had him stumped. She’d seemed so close to coming out of her shell during their sleigh ride that he’d practically tasted the kiss he’d been longing for. But then she’d gotten scared again.
Jerome recalled how Emma had leaned into him as they’d ridden in the sleigh . . . her dreamy expression as her eyes closed . . . the sound of her laughter. How could he convince Emma to trust him with her emotions . . . her future? Already he’d done more soul-searching about this young woman than about all of his previous dates and fiancées put together. He longed to propose marriage to Emma before they even courted, so she’d understand that his intentions were honorable. Yet he understood that she needed his patience and compassion while she mourned her mother.
Did these thoughts mean he was taking the higher, wiser road with Emma because he truly loved her? Or was he following the wrong path altogether? He’d believed he’d found the love of his lifetime in his two earlier fiancées, too.
With a parting glance at his mules, Jerome returned to the house. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and three fresh loaves of bread sat cooling on the counter, filling the kitchen with a yeasty aroma that made his stomach rumble. The steady whirrrr of Amanda’s wheel told him his aunt was working on her pottery orders in the adjacent room. The three little girls must be helping Jemima upstairs.
Jerome surveyed the kitchen and the front room. Even with its freshly painted walls, this house hadn’t changed much since he’d come here as a boy. What would Emma think of living here? Merle would settle right in, but would any new bride want to start up amongst eight kids and four other adults? Even with Emma sharing my room, we wouldn’t have a bedroom for her dat . . .
And Emma might cling to the notion of remaining in her own home, too. That would mean he’d have to move his mules, mares, and donkeys to Cedar Creek . . . which would involve building a new barn, because the Grabers’ was only big enough to accommodate their horses. Pasture for additional animals would be in short supply, too—and the Lambright land on both sides of the road was already being grazed by Matt’s sheep, so there was no place nearby he could rent.
Jerome sighed. Such responsible thoughts hadn’t occurred to him during his two engagements. Clearly he had a lot to consider before he mentioned marriage to Emma.
* * *
Amanda smoothed the edges of four heart-shaped pottery boxes and then quickly tucked them on the shelf behind her supplies to dry. With Vera working today and Lizzie at school, she’d had the perfect opportunity to make these what-not containers for their Christmas gifts. The two older girls’ boxes were larger than Cora’s and Dora’s, and she would glaze them each a different color. A few days ago, she’d crafted deep bowls for Wyman and Jerome to catch their loose change, and she’d made banks in the shapes of animal heads for the younger kids: a dog for Simon and a bunny for Alice Ann.
When Wags barked out by the barn, Amanda glanced out the window to see Wyman’s buggy leaving again. She laughed at how her devious little plan was playing out: she’d alerted Simon to his dat’s arrival, so now he was off on an adventure, and she could call in an order to the Cedar Creek Mercantile for a few other presents. With Christmas coming, Simon seemed keen on following every little hint about gifts. He was much more likely than the girls to poke around in the house looking for them, too, so she was being very careful. Crafty as a fox.
And wasn’t this anticipation of Christmas a huge improvement? During the past four years, the holidays had felt like hollow days, but now she cherished the presence of a husband and five additional children with whom to celebrate the Lord’s birth. Then, on Second Christmas, they would play games, go for sleigh rides, and indulge in special treats. Even though they were watching their pennies, the simple pleasures of home and hearth—enjoying time together as a family—didn’t have to strain their budget. Amanda was particularly pleased that the money she was earning with her pottery would cover the family’s gifts as well as the chocolate, nuts, and other special ingredients Jemima wanted for their cookies and candies.
Amanda reached into the chest where she stored her clay and found the shopping list she’d hidden. If her luck held, she could make her phone call in the barn and the girls would be none the wiser.
When she entered the kitchen, however, the expression on Jerome’s face stopped her in her tracks. He was standing in the middle of the room, looking as though he bore the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. “And what’s on your mind?” Amanda asked. “I hope Simon didn’t interfere with your training session.”
Jerome flashed her a quick smile. “Did you send him out? He seemed eager for something to do.”
“Let’s just say Wyman came home—and left again—at a gut time. So I’m calling the mercantile for a few things.” Amanda wasn’t fooled by the way her nephew had dodged her question, but she knew better than to press him for details. “Do you need anything while I’m giving them my list?”
Once again Jerome’s face changed, this time to suggest he knew something she didn’t. But wasn’t Christmas the time when everyone kept a few secrets?
“Raisins for a pie? Or the makings for a cherry cheesecake?”
“There’s a fine idea! I don’t think we’ve had cherry cheesecake since last Christmas, and the twins love it, too.” Amanda fetched her coat from its peg on the wall. “If the girls ask where I’ve gone, keep them in here, all right? I’ll be back in a few.”
As she stepped outside into the bright sunshine, Amanda felt exhilarated. She loved the crispness of sunny winter days, and the line of snowmen in the yard was one more thing to be thankful for this year. Once inside the barn, she dialed the number for the Cedar Creek Mercantile’s phone shanty.
As Amanda listened to the rings, Jerome’s mares and their mule foals shifted in their stalls, watching her. All legs and ears, the little ones appeared alert and curious—black they were, like their Percheron mamms. Amanda couldn’t help smiling at them, pleased that the trio looked so healthy—which meant Jerome had been stewing over something else when she’d caught him in the kitchen.
“Jah, hello—this is Abby Graber.”
Amanda laughed in her surprise. “And this is Amanda Brubaker. I wasn’t expecting to hear your voice, Abby! If you could take this shopping list over to Sam, I’d like to pick my order up in a day or so.”
“I’m back in the store through year’s end, helping with the Christmas rush,” Abby replied with her usual cheerfulness. “Pencil’s ready. What can I get for you?”
And wasn’t that something, Abby working again? Once again circumstances seemed to play right into Amanda’s plan. “I’d like three lined tablets—the kind kids use when they’re learning to write their letters—and four pairs of stockin
gs and kapps that would fit Jemima, and five cards of hairpins.”
“Any baking supplies?” Abby asked. “We just got a shipment of colored sugars and jimmies, along with the bigger bags of chocolate chips. Thank goodness Emma ordered them before she stopped working in the back room, or we’d have run out.”
“Emma quit? She seemed so tickled to be helping Sam.”
“She had no say about it when Vernon and Sam figured out that she was wearing herself too thin,” Abby explained. “But she’s doing the store’s book work at home now.”
“Ah. Well, I bet Merle’s happy to have her company, just as Sam’s mighty glad to have you helping again,” Amanda remarked. Then she glanced at her list again. “Jah, a couple bags of the chips, and two or three bags of your cookie sprinkles would be fun for decorating the girls’ cookies—oh, and Jerome wants a big bag of raisins, plus two blocks of cream cheese and two cans of pie filling for a couple of cherry cheese pies.”
“Ooh, can I come to your place when you make those?” Abby teased.
Amanda laughed. “Matter of fact, that’s a fine idea—for Second Christmas! And bring Emma and Merle—and James, of course.”
“Ach, I was teasing you, Amanda. You already have a houseful.”
“No, please! We’d love to have you—unless you newlyweds have already made plans,” Amanda insisted. “And while I’m thinking of it, cut me enough fabric to make shirts for Jerome, Wyman, and the two older boys—in two colors. Have you got purple, and maybe turquoise, in some no-iron shirting?”
“Jah, we’ve got those—but I’m hoping you won’t want me to whip them up before Christmas,” Abby remarked. “What with helping Sam again, my sewing orders are running a bit behind.”
“Jemima and I can make them after the first of the year. And you know what?” Amanda added as another idea struck her. “If I have Jerome come after these things in a day or so, maybe he’ll venture across the road to see Emma.”
