Amanda Weds a Good Man

by Naomi King

  James, too, refocused on his dinner. “That’s just one of the things I love about you, Abby,” he said. “You put other people first and you’re glad to jump in and help. Especially since, as a member of the wedding party, you could sit up here all day.”

  “You could, too, James. But I don’t see that happening.”

  “So you think you’ve got me all figured out.” James set his pie on his empty dinner plate. “Guess I’ll have to find different ways to do things—just to surprise you. Sharp cookie that you are, that might take some doing.”

  Abby’s heart fluttered. Wasn’t it good to know that such a wonderful man thought she was worth some extra effort?

  • • •

  That night after supper Amanda slipped into the barn to wait for Wyman’s call. During harvest, when he had no time to drive all the way to Bloomingdale, they had agreed to keep in touch by phone. It gave her something to look forward to after each busy day of packing and preparing for the move . . . a few moments to just sit. The big old barn filled with peaceful shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sound of animals chewing their hay—mostly Jerome’s mules, and the donkeys and horses he kept for breeding them—soothed her.

  As she inhaled the earthy scents of manure and hay, Amanda again felt grateful that she didn’t have to have her wedding here. The celebration for Matt and Rosemary would still be going strong at Sam Lambright’s place . . . and I thank You, Lord, for surrounding me with family and friends to help me through so many changes—

  The phone on the wall trilled. “Jah, hullo?” she said.

  “Amanda. It’s gut to hear your voice after a busy day, my love.”

  She closed her eyes to savor Wyman’s endearment, for most Amish fellows didn’t wax romantic when they spoke to their women. As her intended’s low voice seeped into her being, she relaxed on the old wooden bench. “We’ve been scurrying like squirrels, too, Wyman,” she remarked. “The girls washed jars and chopped the vegetables while Jemima and I canned a big batch of chowchow, along with the last of the tomatoes for the season.”

  “Mmmm. We’ll all enjoy those this winter,” Wyman said. “Vera does her best with the garden, but keeping food on our table from one meal to the next occupies most of her time. We haven’t had much homemade jam or chowchow lately.”

  “She’s very capable for a girl of seventeen.” Amanda rested against the barn wall, soaking up Wyman’s pleasant conversation. “And how about you? Did you fellows unload a lot of wagons today?”

  “Jah, and what with the drought, several of the locals have already cleared their fields. Some of them will have to live mighty tight this winter.” He sighed, a sign that he was both weary and concerned. “It’s not gut when Plain fathers with large families talk of taking on a job in town. Makes me thankful that the elevator is just across the road from home, and that English farmers bring their crops to us, too, so Ray and I can support our families. But enough about business.”

  Amanda could feel his gentle smile coming through the phone line as she anticipated more intimate conversation. Once their courting phase was over, private time together might be hit-and-miss, so she was enjoying every moment of it while she could. “And what else is on your mind tonight, dear man?”

  “You.”

  Oh, but that single word made her feel alive. Ready to emerge from her cocoon of grief. “How so?” she asked, hoping for more of this enticing talk.

  “I’ve been thinking how much easier it is, falling in love this time around,” he replied. “When I was courting Viola I was a bundle of nerves, wondering how I’d pull everything together. Ray Fisher and I had been friends all our lives but we hadn’t been in business long, so we were both worried about getting the elevator off to a profitable start as we took wives,” he explained. “With you, Amanda, it’s like wrapping myself in a cozy old sweater. We’ve both been through the newlywed jitters—and we’ve known our share of trials and tragedy, too. So we can just be who we already are for each other.”

  “And who you are, Wyman, makes me feel gut about who I am . . . who I can be from here on out, too,” Amanda murmured. “But I’m hoping that when I wrap myself around you, it’s not an old sweater you’ll be thinking about.”

  Wyman’s low laughter sent shivers up her spine. “I can’t wait to be with you . . . in our room,” he murmured. “I crave you like a ravenous man who’s arrived at a feast. But food—and jah, old sweaters—will be the furthest things from my mind once we’re man and wife.”

  Amanda hugged herself, barely able to contain her longing—her need for both emotional and physical affection. “Just a couple more weeks now, and we’ll make it all come true.”

  “I wish I could drive over there tonight,” he whispered. “Twenty years ago I wouldn’t have given a second thought to being out at all hours, to spend time with you.”

  “Twenty years ago we might not have liked each other,” Amanda pointed out. “Our first marriages have molded us into different people.”

  “You’ve got a point there. And before I completely forget to tell you, I hope it’ll be all right if the kids come over for the day on Saturday?”

  Amanda’s eyebrows shot up. She still had so many things to pack—

  “It was Pete’s idea that he and Eddie could help Jerome bale your hay, as a way to make up for tormenting Lizzie in the mercantile,” Wyman went on. “Vera’s hoping to help you pack boxes, or she’ll watch the kids while you and Jemima work, or whatever you need her to do. I think she’d like to spend time with you and Lizzie, maybe to talk about how things will be when you folks move in with us.”

  “Ah. Well, that’ll be fine—”

  “And Simon’s leaving his dog at home,” Wyman added. “We’re all very sorry about your pottery getting broken.”

  Although Wyman had paid her for her shattered pieces, he had no idea how it had pained her to see her pie plates and pitchers lying smashed in her wagon. “Well, I could have put my end gate up before I went in to speak with Sam,” she murmured. “Could have padded my pieces with newspaper, or—”

  “It was a lesson for all of us about being more careful,” Wyman summarized. “But I wanted to be sure it was all right for my gang to show up, so you’d be prepared to feed them. Eddie and Pete can eat their weight in food.”

  “We’ll plan for that,” Amanda said. “Jerome will be glad for the help, too. Denki for thinking of us, Wyman.”

  “Anything for you, Amanda.”

  Oh, but she could make the most of that unexpected sentiment. But if she teased him she might not hear it again. Anything for you, Amanda . . .

  “I’ll be sure to thank Pete for thinking of us, as well,” she said. “I suspect he’s coming as much to be around Lizzie as to make up for his trick with the fishing pole. They’re at an awkward age.”

  “Jah, and since they’re not blood relations, we might have to watch how they take to each other as they get older,” Wyman remarked. “But it’ll all work out. All in God’s gut grace.”

  After a few more moments of banter, they exchanged kisses and hung up. Amanda wished she could rest out here in the peaceful barn for a bit longer, running the more romantic moments of her courtship through her mind, but it wasn’t fair to Jemima and Lizzie that she’d gotten out of some kitchen cleanup during these calls. And with the five Brubaker kids coming the day after tomorrow, there was no time to waste. Feeding that crew would require some advance preparation.

  Get used to thinking bigger when it comes to meals, she reminded herself as she brought jars of pie filling up from the cellar. It’s a gut thing you’ll have Jemima, Vera, and Lizzie to help every day.

  When her mother-in-law saw the quarts of apple, rhubarb, and cherry filling, however, she raised her eyebrows. “Having a pie frolic, are we?”

  Amanda heard the weary edge in Jemima’s voice and chose her words carefully. “Wyman just tol
d me his kids want to come over on Saturday—”

  “Now isn’t that just like a man, thinking we want his wild bunch here when we’ve already got more work than we know what to do with?” Jemima removed the kapp from her silvery gray hair, looking every bit of her seventy-two years. “I’m headed for bed. Too tired and down in the back to think about all that cooking right now.”

  Amanda set the jars on the counter, not surprised at Jemima’s grumbling. Atlee’s dat had died nearly twenty years ago—before Amanda had married into the Lambright family—and Jemima’s widowhood, along with her bad back and feet, often weighed her down like a dark, heavy cloak.

  “Jah, get your rest and we’ll figure it out tomorrow.” Amanda put out the two lamps by the sink and stood in the dark kitchen for a moment, gathering herself. What would it be like when they cooked for eight kids and three adults as a matter of course? And how would it be, to move into a kitchen that had belonged to Wyman’s first wife . . . the mother of children who outnumbered hers?

  You can figure that out tomorrow, too. Maybe.

  Chapter Five

  “Ach, here comes the Brubaker bunch, and us not even finished with the breakfast dishes,” Lizzie said Saturday morning. “They must’ve started out in the dark.”

  “That means I’ll get a full day’s haying out of Eddie and Pete,” Jerome replied. He rose from the table and grabbed his straw hat from its peg by the door. “What’re your thoughts about Simon going with us, Amanda? It would be a gut thing for him to work with us fellows. He’ll no doubt be underfoot if he stays here with you women.”

  “Is there any danger of him getting hurt?” Amanda asked. “Those kids lost their mamm to a baling machine, remember.”

  Jerome considered this as he watched the Brubaker kids out the window. “Comes a time when every boy needs to pull his weight. I was working with my dat at Simon’s age, and so were Eddie and Pete,” he pointed out. “It’ll be their responsibility as big brothers to keep him on task—and I’ll watch out for him, too.”

  “That settles it, then,” Jemima said from her sink full of dishes. “That boy will only make more work if he’s here leading the twins astray.”

  Cora and Dora giggled. They began stacking the dirty plates while Lizzie put the leftover sausage and hash browns in containers. “Oh, Mammi, we wouldn’t let Simon get us in trouble,” Dora said.

  “Nope, we’d tell him what’s what,” Cora chimed in. “He’s mostly just showing off—like most boys.”

  “Jah, boys are pretty stupid sometimes,” her twin continued.

  “That’s enough of such talk,” Amanda said sternly. “These are your new brothers and sisters, coming to help us today. They’re showing us they love us, and we should do the same.”

  Jerome grabbed the handle of the picnic hamper Amanda had packed for them and opened the door. “See you for dinner. Thanks for these snacks.”

  Amanda stepped out onto the porch with him, waving at the kids who had hopped down from their wagon. “Gut to see you!” she called out. “Awfully nice of you to come help us today.”

  “And we menfolk have a full day ahead of us, too,” Jerome spoke up. He pointed to a big ceramic water cooler on the top step. “Pete and Eddie, if you’ll fill this at the pump over there, Simon and I can hitch up the mules.”

  Simon’s eyes lit up. “I get to go with you guys?”

  “Oh, you betcha.” Jerome set the basket down to swing the boy up so they were eye to eye. “You’re too old to be hanging around with the girls, ain’t so? We’ve got a lot of jobs for you, Simon, so there can’t be any squirreling around, got it? No fried pies or brownies for those who don’t do as I tell them.”

  “Fried pies? Like, cherry ones?” the boy asked, looking toward Amanda for an answer.

  Amanda shrugged, pleased to see that Jerome had taken this matter in hand. “You’ll have to pull your share of the load and find out. No telling what might be in that basket for fellows who work real hard.”

  As Jerome led Simon to the barn, Vera came up the porch stairs holding Alice Ann’s hand. She wore a kerchief over her dark brown hair to work in, and she carried a large basket. “What a blessing that Jerome wants Simon to help with the haying,” she said in a low voice. “He’s been wound tighter than a top ever since he jumped out of bed an hour earlier than we intended.”

  “That comes with being five,” Amanda replied. She held out her hands, but Alice Ann clung to her big sister’s leg. “And we girls will be just fine working together, won’t we, sweet pea? Cora and Dora have been waiting for you to get here today.”

  Alice Ann nodded shyly and looked toward the open kitchen door.

  Vera set down her basket and let her little sister toddle inside. “I brought along some fresh bread and a bowl of snack mix the kids like, and another box, too. I’ll be right back.”

  Whatever might Vera be so excited about? Amanda watched the teenager jog gracefully to the Brubaker wagon, and lift a box from the back end. Lizzie stepped outside then, wiping her hands on a dish towel. As though Eddie and Pete had been awaiting her appearance, they waved from the pump, but Lizzie just rolled her eyes. When she saw Vera hefting the cardboard box, however, she loped out to help her carry it.

  “Oooh! What’ve you got in here, Vera?” she asked. “This looks like Mamm’s pottery.”

  “I hope she’ll like what I’ve done with her bits and pieces,” Vera said. “They were just too pretty to toss out.”

  When the girls set the box on the seat of the swing, Amanda peered inside. Vera carefully lifted something wrapped in an old towel, and when she revealed it Amanda’s eyes widened. Dangling from the bottom of a broken pitcher were strings of various lengths that held other pieces of pottery in reds, blues, and greens. “Wind chimes! What a clever idea.”

  “Listen to the tinkling sound they make!” Lizzie held the handle so the breeze caught the shards of pottery.

  Vera’s cheeks turned pink. “I smoothed the rough edges and reinforced the pieces with a coat of shellac. Then I used some of Pete’s fishing line to string them,” she explained. “They won’t withstand a heavy wind, but if they get hung someplace a little more sheltered—or inside, over a furnace vent—they should be all right.”

  As Amanda fingered a pitcher’s spout, a handle, and some fluted pieces that had once been on a pie plate, something inside her swelled. What a blessing, that this young woman had salvaged the broken pieces of her work—like shattered dreams—and fashioned them into something new. “I would never have thought to do this, Vera. Denki so much for showing me.”

  “I made some necklaces and bracelets, too,” Vera said as she lifted other pieces from her box. “Plain gals won’t wear them, of course, but maybe the English folks who shop at the Cedar Creek Mercantile will buy them.”

  “Wow, these are so cool!” Lizzie lifted two more necklaces from the box, gazing raptly at them as they shimmered in the sunlight.

  “I’m thinking Abby would display these for you, too,” Amanda said as she admired the necklace Vera had slipped over her head. The pieces alternated in color and size, with flat shards separated by tubular chunks that had come from handles or spouts. “You have a fine eye for arranging the shapes and colors, Vera. And you’ve spent a lot of time smoothing them off and drilling those holes to run the line through, too. That was delicate work.”

  Vera shrugged modestly. “I didn’t think about it much. Your bright colors just inspired my hands to put the pieces together,” she said. “After I made the first necklace, the others went fast. Do you really think Sam would carry them in his store?”

  “I would certainly take them in,” Amanda insisted. “Treva might sell your wind chimes in her greenhouse, too. She carries a lot of gift items to go along with her pumpkins and plants.”

  “I decorated this pot, too, hoping Treva might want more.” From the bottom of her box, Vera lifted a ten-
inch terra cotta flowerpot. She had glued pottery pieces all over the outside of it, similar to a mosaic design but more dimensional.

  “Wouldn’t that look nice with a mum in it? Or a geranium, in the summer,” Jemima said as she came out to see what was going on. “It’s even prettier because you used cast-off pieces to make something new and useful . . . just like the Lord takes us all as broken vessels and fits us for His service here on Earth.”

  Amanda blinked. Seldom did her mother-in-law make such touching remarks, and Jemima’s attitude boded well for what they might accomplish today. “Amen to that,” she murmured. “What a gift you’ve given us, letting us see your pieces, Vera. The fellows are leaving for the hayfields, so let’s start dinner and decide what we’ll work on today.”

  As the Brubaker girls joined them in the kitchen, Cora and Dora took Alice Ann into the front room to play. Even though Vera was four years older than Lizzie, the two teenagers were chatting excitedly about the wind chimes and necklaces as they went to the cellar for jars of chowchow and tomatoes. After they had peeled potatoes, carrots, and onions to put in the roasting pan with two large meat loaves, Jemima took the three little girls to help her pick the last of the vegetables in the garden.

  Amanda was glad she had told her mother-in-law she wanted to pack her ceramics today, because Vera’s eyes widened when they entered the room where she worked on them. “Back in the day, this was the dawdi haus for Atlee’s grandparents,” Amanda explained. Wyman’s daughter was gazing raptly at the kick wheel, situated near the two windows, and the cylindrical gas kiln in the far corner. “This was the sitting room, and there’s a bathroom—where I can run water for preparing my clay and cleaning up. Since we had plenty of bedrooms if more kids came along, Atlee let me set up in here rather than in the basement where the light’s not so gut.”