Emma Blooms At Last

by Naomi King

  “Yup, got a box for Wyman Brubaker,” the fellow said as he reached down for a parcel. “If my memory serves, that would be you, right?”

  “Jah. Thought I’d save you the trip clear up the hill,” Wyman replied.

  “I appreciate it. I’ve been running a lot of long hours,” he remarked as he handed a padded brown envelope out the door. “So many folks do their Christmas shopping online now, our trucks’ll be out late into the next couple of evenings.”

  Wyman’s pulse accelerated as he grasped the small package. “Merry Christmas to you! You’ve certainly made our Christmas more special, bringing this so fast.”

  “Glad to hear it. Merry Christmas back atcha!”

  Wyman hurried back into his rig to open the shipping bag. The small box inside it was illustrated, and as he gazed at it, he was grateful that Tyler Fisher knew about computers—and that he’d been kind enough to pay the extra money for express delivery without letting on he was doing so.

  Taking out the tiny figurine, Wyman smiled at the delicate Baby Jesus lying in the manger filled with hay. You came into the world at just the right time, way back then, and now You’ve shown up at my house so Alice Ann can have her own little miracle for Christmas. Denki, Lord.

  Wyman eased the figurine back into its box. As his plan for Christmas Eve came to mind, he smiled and urged the horse up the hill toward the barn.

  Your timing is perfect, Graham Lock had said to him and Ray this morning. But really, it was God who had timed these details to perfection.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  As Jerome drove through the countryside toward Cedar Creek, he couldn’t help grinning. It was December 23, and while he was delivering Amanda’s pottery as well as the two completed quilts for James and Abby, it was his more romantic mission that made his heart pound. He’d brought along the mule foal he was giving the newlyweds, as well as three kids who were eager to visit with Merle. He was hoping their presence might keep Emma’s dat distracted while he spent some time with her.

  “Look at those black-and-white cows!” Dora piped up as they turned off the main highway and onto the county blacktop.

  Jerome smiled. “Those are Rudy Ropp’s dairy cows,” he explained. “He milks them twice every day, and then a big tanker truck takes his milk to the cheese factory over by Clearwater.”

  Both of the twins let out a little oooh. “So . . . if you want chocolate milk, do you have to have brown cows?” Cora asked.

  “And pink cows for strawberry?” Dora added with a giggle.

  Simon clapped his hands against his head. “You get those flavors from the syrup bottles in the fridge, silly,” he replied. “It’s a gut thing you don’t want to be farmers when you grow up.”

  Jerome chuckled. The kids were buzzing like bees today, excited about visiting the Grabers. They were also in that rising state of expectation all kids entered as Christmas drew closer. He suspected Simon had been snooping for presents hidden in the closets and blanket chests, but he hadn’t said a word about that to Wyman or Amanda. He’d done the same thing when he’d been Simon’s age, even though gifts had never been the emphasis of their Christmas celebrations.

  And what will you give Emma?

  The question came at him again. Several times he had wondered what would please her most . . . what would convince her that he was a man worthy of her attention. You’ll know it when you see it. The right gift will show itself if you believe it will.

  “Next stop, the Lambright place,” Jerome said above the kids’ teasing conversation. “If you’ll run to the door and tell them we’re here, I’ll unload the pottery.”

  “We’ll take the cookies!” Cora said.

  “And sing them a Christmas carol like we did for Bessie Mast and Lois Yutzy,” Dora added as she gazed eagerly at the tall white house.

  Jerome pulled the buggy to a halt in front of Sam’s place, and the kids shot out of it with their goodies and their excited smiles. Barbara and Treva greeted them at the door and exclaimed over the plate of cookies, and as Jerome carefully carried the packed boxes to the porch, he cherished the sounds of “Silent Night.” Even in broad daylight, nothing touched him quite the way that carol did, sung in young voices that were slightly off-key but earnestly sincere.

  After he visited with the Lambright women and wished them a merry Christmas, Jerome waved the kids back to the rig. He opened the side door of the horse trailer he’d hitched behind the buggy, clucking at the foal inside. Even though the trailer was only large enough for one horse, the little mule looked tiny inside it—but she seemed to be holding up well on this first trip, when her mamm was in the buggy harness rather than beside her. “You’re a gut girl,” Jerome murmured as he stroked the foal’s forehead. “I’ll let you out in a few, and I think a couple of folks will be mighty excited to meet you.”

  He gazed across the road toward Graber’s Custom Carriages and the home situated a short distance behind it. His pulse sped up. He hoped the right words would occur to him when he got a chance to speak with Emma alone. Last time you were with her, you didn’t have a lot to offer her. Things have changed for the better.

  Jerome inhaled the frosty air to settle himself and then climbed back into the buggy. He hoped that he had changed for the better over the past few weeks as well.

  “Now we’re going where the real fun is,” Simon crowed. “But let’s don’t sing for Merle. Guys aren’t as wild about that caroling stuff as old ladies are.”

  Jerome choked on a chuckle, recalling how he’d viewed adults when he was Simon’s age. Perhaps he owed some of his inner transformation to the presence of Wyman’s kids in his home . . . to the way they spoke right up, expressing their joy and frustration and opinions without holding back. Eddie and Pete and Simon never pretended to be any different from who they were.

  And that’s how you should approach Emma. Be the man you are, because even if she’s too shy to say so, she really does like you. You’ve seen it in her eyes.

  Once they’d crossed the blacktop and entered the carriage shop’s parking lot, Jerome explained his plan to the kids. “Rather than pounding on the door and maybe waking Merle from a nap,” he said as he held Simon’s eager gaze, “let’s show James and Abby their foal first. That way, if they invite us to stay for dinner, it won’t seem like we showed up at this time of day figuring to eat with them.”

  Simon’s smile sobered. “But what if they don’t ask us? Will they eat their dinner while we stand there—”

  “Now who’s being silly?” Dora asked as she elbowed the boy. “Of course they’ll invite us for dinner.”

  “Because every time we see the Grabers, we eat!” Cora exclaimed. “But we want it to be their idea. We just came to deliver gifts and to see Merle. Okay?”

  Chuckling, Jerome marveled at the wisdom of these young girls. “Jah, that’s what I was trying to say, and it looks like our timing’s gut, too. Here comes Abby from the mercantile, probably taking her dinner break.”

  “Hope she’s been making fried pies,” Simon said as he opened the rig’s door.

  Abby’s curiosity brightened her rosy cheeks as she strode up the carriage shop’s short driveway. “Jerome, what a fine surprise, to see you—and you kids!” She hugged the twins and tweaked Simon’s stocking cap. “What on earth could be in this trailer, or are you delivering a lot of pottery orders for Amanda?”

  Simon jumped up and down, his brown eyes sparkling. “It’s a little—”

  “Surprise,” Cora insisted as she clapped her hand over his mouth.

  “Jah, something for you and James,” Dora added sweetly. “We brought your wedding presents!”

  “Well, let’s go fetch James so he can see them, too,” Abby suggested. “Simon, will you come into the shop with me?”

  Simon didn’t take the hand Abby offered him, but he was delighted to be going into the carriage shop. Jerome open
ed the double back doors of the horse trailer and spoke softly to the foal as he lowered the ramp. “Shall we stand alongside your mamm for a few?” he murmured as he unhitched the foal’s tether. “You’re doing real gut, little girl.”

  The foal nickered as Jerome gently backed her out of the trailer. When she caught sight of the mare in front of the rig, she brayed and hurried to stand beside her mother. The twins gathered around the foal and stroked her back, speaking quietly as Jerome had taught them.

  “And what have we here?” James said as he came toward them. He was slipping into his coat, looking very pleased to see his visitors, while Abby and Simon walked alongside him.

  “What a pretty sight, the sleek black Percheron mamm and her nubby foal together,” Abby remarked. “Your little mule’s doing real well for as young as she is.”

  Jerome smiled, pleased with her compliment. “I’d like you two newlyweds to have her, soon as she’s weaned and broken to the lead—and I’ll train her, if you’d like.”

  “This little mule’s for us?” James’s eyes widened as he looked at the foal again. “That’s a very generous gift, Jerome.”

  “And you’ll train her, too?” Abby ran her hand gently along the foal’s neck. “But we’ll pay you for training.”

  “Nope. She’s my wedding gift to you, along with my gratitude for helping our family make the move to Bloomingdale, and for selling Aunt Amanda’s pottery in your store again,” Jerome added as he smiled at Abby. Then he leaned closer to the couple. “And if you could give me some time with Emma today, I’d really appreciate it.”

  James chuckled. “Consider it done.”

  “Jah, we can arrange that,” Abby agreed as she glanced toward the house. “Emma’s crocheted hats are selling as fast as I can take them to the store, and she’s mighty tickled about that, but you’ll be the frosting on her cake, Jerome. She’s happier now. More at peace about her mamm’s passing and—well, I think you’ll see a difference.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Jerome murmured. “And how’s Merle doing?”

  “Oh, he’ll be excited to see these kids,” Abby said as she grinned at them. “Let’s go in and tell him and Emma you’re here, shall we?”

  “Jah!” Cora exclaimed as she and Dora hurried around the side of the rig. “We brought him—”

  “A cookie plate,” her twin finished. “And we can sing carols, too.”

  As Abby and the three kids hurried toward the house, all talking at once, Jerome smiled after them and said to James, “Hope we won’t be putting Emma out, showing up when she wasn’t expecting four extra folks for a meal.”

  “Puh! Emma and Abby have already baked enough breads and goodies—there’s plenty to share. And by the way,” James added, “tell Amanda we’ll be pleased to come for Second Christmas. What with my sisters’ being sick, we’re staying home on Christmas Day, so we’ll be ready for some fun at your place.”

  As Jerome and James led the mare and the foal to the barn, Jerome inhaled the cold winter air to settle himself. Countless dates he’d been on over the years, but today felt different. Bigger. As though he might be finally walking down the right path toward his future.

  Although dozens of times he’d imagined proposing to Emma, it was much too soon for that. Jerome didn’t know for sure what he would say or do, so he prayed that whatever came out of his mouth would be appropriate, proof that his feelings for Emma were sincere and long-lasting. When he’d fetched the two wrapped bundles from the rig, he and James went inside the Graber house. It was a joy to see Merle laughing with the kids—and humorous, because the back of his hair was standing on end from napping in his recliner. He was asking Simon which cookies were the best, making a game of it, and making each child feel special.

  Abby came out of the kitchen and winked at Jerome. “No time like the present.”

  “And no present like the time,” Jerome quipped as he removed his coat. “Denki, Abby. I won’t be but a few—”

  “Don’t hurry. The kids can help James and me open those other gifts—so many presents!” she added when she saw the wrapped bundles on the sofa.

  Jerome inhaled the homey aromas of freshly baked bread . . . something rich and beefy . . . something sweet. He peeked around the kitchen door frame to gauge Emma’s mood. The rise of her expressive eyebrows and the bustle in her step suggested that she was more flustered about having dinner guests than James had let on. But she looked so pretty and efficient, and she was wearing a dress the shade of nutmeg rather than black.

  “Emma, it’s so gut to see you again,” he murmured as he entered the kitchen. “Please don’t go to any extra trouble—whatever’s bubbling in that pot smells fabulous.”

  “Let me just stir up another batch of biscuits to go with our stew and—”

  Jerome couldn’t help himself. He gently took hold of Emma’s shoulders and turned her so she was facing him. Her measuring cup fell from her hand into the flour canister, and her hazel eyes widened as she gazed up at him. She had a little spot of flour on her cheek, and it was all he could do not to kiss it away.

  “Oh!” Emma gasped. “Jerome, I—”

  “I’ve been wanting to give you something for the longest time, Emma,” he murmured, “and if you don’t like it, I’ll leave you to your cooking and I—I’ll never bother you again.”

  Before she could question him, Jerome lowered his head and kissed Emma very gently. It was just a brief brushing of lips, but the velvety sweetness of her mouth made him dip down for another sip, like a bee sampling the nectar of a delicate flower.

  “Oh!” Emma gasped again. She gazed at him full-on, as wide-eyed and fetching as a young girl. The roses blooming in her cheeks, and the way her breathing accelerated with his, told Jerome she’d liked his kiss.

  “I—I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you, Emmie-girl,” Jerome insisted softly. “I’m a different man when I’m with you, happier and more settled. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. You’re sensible and down-to-earth. And you balance out my tendencies to act first and think later.”

  Emma’s cheeks blazed, yet she didn’t look away from him. “And you encourage me to come out of my boring, predictable shell to try new things,” she whispered. “I felt so gut last time you were here, Jerome, when you fussed over the afghan I’d crocheted. Not many fellows would do that or . . . have such patience with me.”

  He sucked in his breath. She was responding even more sweetly than he’d hoped, standing between him and the stove without trying to break away. Did he dare speak of all the wondrous ideas that were whirling in his heart? “It’s not just who you are that makes me want to be with you, Emma,” he murmured earnestly. “It’s who I am when I’m with you.”

  “Will you kiss me again, Jerome?”

  His breath left him in a rush. His eyes closed, and when his lips found hers, Jerome knew the answer to every question his heart had ever asked. Emma responded shyly, but she wanted his kiss now . . . accepted him in ways she hadn’t before. Knowing Emma had never been kissed by anyone else made this moment feel especially sweet—downright sacred, because she was entrusting so much to him.

  Jerome suddenly believed he could move heaven and earth, if Emma asked him to. He could let her determine the course of their courtship, and take it at her own speed, too. And when had he ever allowed a woman such control over his life?

  “Amanda’s given me some land, so I’m going to build us a house on the farm in Bloomingdale—if you’ll have me, that is,” he added in a tight voice. He smelled something getting too hot and reached behind Emma to yank the stew pot off the burner. “But we’ve got time to sort all that out, jah? Will you let me court you now, Emma? Please?”

  * * *

  Emma was aware that her first batch of biscuits needed to be taken from the oven and that the stew had scorched, yet her worries evaporated like the steam coming from th
e pot on the stove. Why had she been so reluctant to kiss this man before? Why had she believed Jerome Lambright was a bounder who was too full of himself to even notice a shy mouse like her?

  Once upon a time those things were true. But both of us see our lives, our futures, differently now.

  Emma eased herself from Jerome’s grasp and bustled over to the oven. The look on his face tickled her. He thought she was stalling, not going to answer his courting question, but it wouldn’t hurt him to wait, would it? She could let him think, for just a few moments, that she might not gush out a yes like his previous fiancées probably had. Emma removed the golden-brown biscuits and set the pan on a rack to cool. Then she returned to the stove to pull the wooden spoon through the stew, assessing how much of it had stuck to the bottom.

  Finally, Emma smiled up at Jerome. “I think we’ll still have enough for everyone if you don’t eat any,” she teased. “Or we can scrape yours from the bottom, where it stuck while you were distracting the cook.”

  Where had this playfulness come from? When had she ever teased any man, especially about something as serious as his dinner?

  Jerome appeared dumbfounded, as though he’d taken her silly threat seriously. From the front room came strains of the children’s singing—“Away in a Manger,” it was—and her dat was singing along. A move to Bloomingdale might be beneficial for both her and her father, but it was too soon to discuss that even though Jerome had mentioned building her a home. Still, Emma’s heart fluttered. He’s got plans for his future, and he wants you to be a part of it!

  Jerome thumbed away something on her cheek. “Flour,” he murmured. “You look really pretty today, Emma. Like a rose blooming in midwinter. You’ve got that kind of strength and determination, you know—to bloom where you’ve been planted, no matter what the season or the situation. That’s just one of the things I love about you.”

  Her mouth fell open, but no sound came out. Somehow she caught her breath and corralled her runaway thoughts. “I—I do want you to court me, Jerome. But I’ll be in mourning for a while longer,” she reminded him. “I’ve put away my black dresses to enjoy Christmas.”