Amanda Weds a Good Man

by Naomi King

  Abby sighed. It wouldn’t be proper to express her opinion of Uriah Schmucker. “Amanda’s made it through a lot tougher ordeals than this, and Wyman’s doing his best to help everyone adjust. They’ll work it all out.”

  “But will they be happy?”

  Now there was a question every woman pondered and few dared to express. While it was the right thing to marry, and obligatory to obey the bishop and one’s husband, and to give up personal pleasures for the good of the family . . . was there a point where such sacrifice became more of a burden than a blessing?

  What would happen if Amanda reached that point?

  And what will you do if Vernon—or Sam or James—tells you to give up your Stitch in Time business after you marry? What if you’re no longer allowed to work here in the mercantile? Wives are to stay home and become mothers.

  As Abby went back upstairs to sew her tablecloths, these thoughts circled in her mind. She loved James with all her heart, and she yearned to become a mother but . . . she also wanted to choose how she spent her days. The ability to decide her future had been the biggest advantage of remaining a maidel, and it would be the most difficult part of her life to give up when she married.

  It’s a gut thing James and I made up after Sam caught us kissing, she thought as she pumped the sewing machine’s treadle. Now we have another important topic to talk about. . . .

  Chapter Nineteen

  James gazed across the county road at the splendor of the maple and sweet gum trees on Sam Lambright’s place. Was it his imagination, or did the fall foliage shine with special brilliance this year? As the late-afternoon sun turned the sky a deep morning glory blue, those trees seemed to catch fire and glow.

  Like Abby glows, with a beauty only God could bestow, he thought as he crossed the blacktop. Abby had invited him and Emma over for supper tonight, saying Gail and Sam would work the final Friday shift at the mercantile, so he had declared an early quitting time at the carriage shop. Invitations like this weren’t to be wasted: he figured on spending some time alone with Abby while Emma helped their parents with an early supper. Before his sister arrived at Abby’s, he hoped to finally pop the question—

  Jerome Lambright came cantering up the road on a spirited bay gelding with a black mane and tail. “James! Gut afternoon!” he called out.

  “And what brings you to Cedar Creek on this fine day?” James smiled despite the urgency of his mission at Abby’s.

  Jerome’s horse pranced as he dismounted. “I’ve come to ignore your sister while I visit with your folks,” he teased.

  James laughed. He had to admire this fellow’s strategy, because Emma was equally as set on ignoring Jerome—or at least she said she had no interest in him. “Between you, me, and the fence post,” James murmured, “Emma will be going to Abby’s house for supper in about half an hour. I’m sure Abby would be tickled if you’d make it a double date.”

  “What a fine idea. Your sister would refuse to have dinner with me, but she won’t back out of Abby’s invitation, ain’t so?”

  “That’s how I see it, jah.”

  Jerome clapped James on the shoulder, grinning. “You’re a gut man, Graber. I owe you for this one.”

  Jah, you do, James thought as he saw his private time with Abby slipping away. But if it meant Emma got out of the house for an evening with friends and had a chance to get better acquainted with Jerome, he’d done a brotherly good deed.

  “I’ll go tell Abby you’re coming,” he said. “The folks’ll be real happy to see you. Dat hasn’t stopped talking about his ride on that fancy wagon with your mules.”

  “It was a great day for all of us,” Jerome agreed. “Pass along my appreciation to Abby for setting another place at her table. And thanks for being a gut sport, James. You’ve got your own courting to do, after all.”

  “See you in a few then. But take your time,” James added with a purposeful smile. “Dat will be happy to talk your leg off.”

  As Jerome led his bay up the drive, James jogged past the phone shanty and down Lambright Lane. He hadn’t checked for messages today, but this was no time to let business or the phone detain him. It was a rare treat to eat dinner in Abby’s cozy little home and he didn’t want to waste a minute he could be spending with her.

  Once again the key phrases whirled in his mind. Abby, so many times I’ve tried to ask you . . . but that sounded like he was making excuses.

  I love you so much, Abby. Will you marry me? Was that too abrupt? Did he need to lead up to it with some sort of endearment?

  Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? That seemed awfully formal. Abby was a down-to-earth woman. She wouldn’t require such a high tone. . . .

  But he could miss his chance—again—to propose to her if he fussed with the wording. He wanted to hold her close and kiss her first, but after the way Sam had warned them last week about getting too physical, he couldn’t take the chance that someone would see them through the window. And he’d be a fool to ignore Abby’s plea for less public affection—especially since Emma and Jerome would be coming at any moment.

  James knocked on Abby’s front door, his heart in his throat. The rapid patter of her footsteps announced her approach, and he braced himself, praying he wouldn’t sound like a fool when he bared his soul to her.

  “James, you’re just in time,” Abby gasped as she threw open her door. “A bird’s flown down my chimney! I don’t dare open the fireplace doors to catch him, for fear he’ll fly all over the house.”

  How was it that something always happened at just the wrong moment, every time they were alone together? James considered his options as he approached the fireplace, where a forlorn peep . . . peep greeted him from behind the glass doors. A sparrow hopped around on the cast-iron grate, probably wondering how he’d gotten himself into such a fix.

  “I don’t suppose you have a butterfly net,” he said. “Dat’s fishing net might work, but if the bird got through those holes . . .”

  “What about this?” Abby hurried into her kitchen and then came back carrying a large mesh strainer with a long handle.

  “Jah, I think I can make that work,” he said as he pictured the maneuver in his mind. “But I’ll need you to toss a kitchen towel over the open side of the strainer real quick, just as I bring the bird out between the glass doors. Think you can do that?”

  “Let me grab a towel.”

  As James considered the best way to corner the bird and catch it without any of them getting hurt or more frightened than necessary, he inhaled the aroma of dinner in the oven . . . ham, by the smell of it, along with something sweet and flavored with cinnamon. The homey aromas made him hunger for the time when he would come home each evening to dinner and Abby.

  Considering how most Amish couples announced their betrothal and tied the knot a few weeks later, he could be living his dream by Thanksgiving—and what a wonderful thing to give thanks for. It wasn’t as though one of them would have to relocate, as Amanda Lambright had done . . . wouldn’t take much effort to move his clothes and a few belongings here into Abby’s little nest, which would be his preference over living with Emma and his folks. He’d be just minutes away from his parents and the carriage shop—

  Abby stopped beside him with the towel, smiling as she anticipated this adventure. “Ready?”

  Jah, I’m ready, sweet lady. You don’t know the half of it, James thought. But he focused on the bird in the fireplace, praying his rescue effort succeeded the first time. “We’ll hope the sparrow knows this is for his own gut and not to scare him,” he said. “Once you’ve draped the towel over the open end of the strainer, I’ll be hurrying to the door. You’d best stand to the other side of me.”

  “Jah, gut idea. We can do this, James.”

  His nerves stilled as her confident voice soothed him. James gripped the strainer handle, slowly opening the fireplace doors as he crouc
hed. The bird hopped along the grate ahead of the open side of the strainer, just as he’d hoped . . . and as the sparrow reached the end of its perch, James gently caught him against the inner wall of the fireplace. “So far, so gut. Now for the tricky part.”

  “I’m praying for the both of you,” Abby whispered.

  As she stood poised with her towel, Abby’s rapt expression was yet another reason James loved her. He eased the strainer to the edge of the bricks beside the hinge of the glass doors. “Okay now, fold back the other door so it’s out of the way. I’m bringing it out . . . jah, just like—”

  At exactly the right moment, Abby tucked her towel around the top of the strainer and then covered the entire opening. “Got it?”

  James grabbed the ends of the towel with his free hand, grinning. “If you’ll open the door—”

  Abby sprinted ahead of him, as giddy with victory as he was. When he’d stepped outside, he turned the opening of the strainer away from him, stooped, and let the towel drop near the ground. The bird let out a peep and fluttered toward the nearest tree as though it hadn’t been the least bit concerned for its safety.

  “Oh, James, that was the best favor you’ve done me,” Abby gushed as she grabbed his hand between hers. “We make a gut team, ain’t so?”

  The moment begged for him to pop that all-important question, yet as James gazed into Abby’s eyes, he temporarily forgot how to speak. What a blessed man he was, having such a caring, compassionate, and beautiful woman at his side. “Abby, I—”

  “Abby! James! We’ve got an idea, and you’ll want to be in on it!”

  Emma was hurrying toward them, well ahead of Jerome, who strode along with the air of a fellow whose mission was going exactly as he’d hoped. James had to chuckle. “By the way,” he murmured to Abby, “I invited Jerome to join us for dinner a few minutes ago. I hope that’s all right.”

  “It’s more than all right,” she murmured. “We’ve all got your sister right where we want her.” Then she waved gleefully at the oncoming couple. “And what might you two be cooking up? Come inside while I tend to our dinner. We’ve had a little distraction.”

  Just that easily, Abby had adjusted her plans. James opened the door and she scurried into the kitchen, swung open the oven, and retrieved the blue enamel roasting pan between two pot holders. She lifted the lid with a flourish.

  “Ah, gut. Still enough broth for making gravy,” she announced. “And nothing’s burnt.”

  “Oh, your ham loaf—my favorite!” Emma set down the canister she’d brought along. “Let me get that baked pineapple out, and the potatoes. You’ve got enough for quite a crowd here, Abby.”

  “Cook once, eat twice—or more.” Abby lifted the ham loaf onto a platter and then turned on the burner beneath the roaster. “If you fellows would get our salad out of the fridge and pour some water, we’ll be ready to eat in two shakes of that sparrow’s tail.”

  By the time James told his sister and Jerome about rescuing the bird, a fourth place had been set and the meal was on the table. After their silent prayer, James passed the ham loaf, inhaling its savory-sweet aroma. What with a three-bean salad plus fresh cinnamon-swirl bread, the meal seemed like quite a feast for a woman who had spent most of her day at the mercantile.

  “Denki so much for this dinner, Abby,” Emma murmured across the small table. “Dat’s having one of his forgetful days and Mamm’s all the fussier because of it.”

  “We’re glad you two could join us,” Abby answered. “So what’s the idea you were so excited about?”

  Emma brightened, spooning ham gravy over her baked potato. “It’s Jerome’s idea, truth be told. When Dat mentioned that Mamm’s birthday was coming up, Jerome took me aside and whispered that we should have a surprise party. That’s especially true because she’ll be eighty.”

  “And we can’t miss that,” Jerome chimed in. “The trick will be keeping it a secret. Your mamm’s sharp enough to catch on if she overhears any plans.”

  “So we’re having her party over here—at Sam’s place,” Abby declared. She got up to look at the wall calendar. “The twenty-ninth is a Thursday, too. How perfect is that? We can invite the neighbors, and your sisters’ families from Queen City and—” Abby’s eyes widened with an inspiration. “The Brubakers, too. If anyone needs a gathering of friends, it’s Amanda and Wyman.”

  James reached for a slice of the soft, swirled bread. “Trouble at their place? Already?”

  As Abby recounted the incident with Uriah Schmucker, James recalled being a kid when the lot had fallen to Uriah, and the Clearwater bishop and his wife seemed to be getting . . . crabbier. While a lot of folks did that as they aged—and this was God’s plan, or it wouldn’t happen with such regularity—James sensed the crusty old bishop was making an example of the blended Brubaker family. Several folks had moved away from Uriah’s district over the years for this very reason. . . .

  “Jah, we should invite them,” Emma was saying. “Could be Sam and Vernon will have advice about dealing with the Schmuckers. It’s not a nice thing to say, but Mildred is such a meddler!”

  “And if Uriah’s telling Aunt Amanda to put up her pottery and let down her girls’ dresses—” Jerome raised his expressive eyebrows. “That’s not going to set so well. She’s got bigger fish to fry, convincing all those kids to get along—not to mention looking after Jemima. I hope Uriah’s decree doesn’t backfire.”

  The four of them ate in thoughtful silence for a moment. When Emma went to fetch the dessert she’d brought, James noticed how much happier she seemed. Was she secretly pleased that Jerome had come to Cedar Creek this evening? Or was she merely enjoying the company of friends after a difficult day of caring for their parents?

  “This party for Mamm is a wonderful-gut idea,” James remarked as he caught the last crumbles of his ham loaf in the tines of his fork. “We should probably keep the planning amongst us four—and Sam and Barbara,” he added as he glanced at Abby. “If Dat knows, he’ll let the cat out of the bag when he gets excited.”

  “And that way the party will be a nice surprise for him, too.” Abby rose to scrape their dinner plates, a smile lighting her face.

  As James watched her performing the ordinary task of clearing the table, his heart thrummed. What other prospective wife could possibly love and understand his parents the way Abby did? When he’d planned to marry her younger sister, his biggest concern had been Zanna’s youth because when Emma married, he and his wife might well be taking over Mamm and Dat’s daily care. God had indeed been at work when Zanna had run off the morning of the wedding, and James was grateful for the way his life was working out these days.

  “Oh, you brought your lemon bars, Emma! They’re my favorite,” Abby said. “Let me put on water for tea, and we’ll take our sweet time enjoying our treats. What a wonderful-gut evening this is turning out to be.”

  James smiled. He couldn’t have said it any better himself.

  Chapter Twenty

  As Amanda washed the dishes from Thursday morning’s baking session, she stared forlornly out the window. Lord, I hate to complain but this cold, drizzly weather—for three days straight—is wearing on all of us. Wyman was at the elevator, Lizzie and Pete had gone to school, Eddie was working on the bathroom in the barn, and Vera had taken the younger children on her shopping trip, so Jemima was pouring out her frustrations while just the two of them were at home.

  “Those older boys should pick up their room every day,” she declared as she formed dough into dinner rolls. “And Simon claims he keeps that mutt outdoors, but you can’t fool me! I hear those paws going clickety-clack—”

  Amanda smiled wryly. She knew Simon sneaked Wags into bed with him, but Wyman had allowed it as a comfort after the boy’s mother had died. She didn’t want to be the one who tried changing such a habit.

  “—and if he’s allowed to keep fibbing about it, he’ll com
e to no gut end.” Jemima gingerly propped one foot on the small stool she kept by the pie safe. “The twins think Simon’s the cat’s meow, so they’re going to copy what he does, Amanda. And Alice Ann follows everything Cora and Dora do. Before long we’ll have quite a problem.”

  Amanda didn’t have the heart to reply. As raindrops trickled down the murky windowpane, she realized they needed to wash all the windows before winter set in . . . but what an overwhelming job, for a house as large as this one. Jerome had always taken on that chore at the other place, easily climbing the tall ladder required to wash the windows on the outside. . . .

  “And why do you suppose Wyman put the pie safe on the wall farthest from the oven?” Jemima demanded in a rising voice. “It’s all I can do to stand on my feet kneading the dough, and then I have to cross this big kitchen to bake it, as well!”

  Amanda reminded herself to be kind, because rainy days weren’t easy for her mother-in-law. “Have you taken some of your arthritis-strength aspirin?” She opened the oven door when Jemima picked up two pans of caramel rolls that had risen.

  “Are you telling me I’m being a pain? I hope you never get the rheumatism, Amanda.”

  With a sigh, Amanda looked at the older woman. Jemima’s kapp was askew and her bun was coming unwound, sure signs she was having trouble with her hands today, as well as her feet. “Why not sit in the recliner for a while and I’ll watch these rolls for you? I can bring you some tea.”

  “So now you want me to be useless?” came Jemima’s retort. “Bad enough that I feel like a fifth wheel here, amongst these Brubaker kids who don’t much like me. Am I supposed to call Wyman’s bunch my grandchildren even though they’re not related to me? I just don’t know what to do anymore!”

  I know that feeling. It seemed that no matter what Amanda said it was wrong, so she kept quiet after Jemima slid the coiled, sweet-smelling rolls into the oven.