Amanda Weds a Good Man

by Naomi King

  Amanda looked young and bubbly. Jubilant. Wyman wished he had been the one to put such a sparkle in her brown eyes. While, yes, she was glad to be in her former home with her favorite furnishings, today’s radiance came from a different place within her. Wyman couldn’t recall seeing such bliss, such peace, in her pretty features even while they’d been courting.

  What can you do to maintain this harmony, this happiness?

  Wyman pondered his options on the ride back to the Lambright farm, and as he and his boys helped Jerome with the livestock chores that afternoon. Clearly, this improvement in his wife’s mood had nothing to do with prosperity, for her house, the barn, and the other outbuildings were sorely in need of paint and maintenance. While there were bedrooms enough to go around, they were smaller than the ones he and his kids were used to. He and Amanda had discussed what type of new cabinets and flooring she wanted as they rebuilt the Brubaker house, yet this morning’s efficient, effortless breakfast had been a testimony to how well she and Jemima worked together in their careworn kitchen. Even while spending all day Saturday unpacking and settling the kids into their rooms, they had baked pies for today’s common meal. Vera had made a big pan of her macaroni and cheese. . . .

  “How’s this feeling to you, Wyman? You look lost in thought.”

  Wyman focused on Jerome as the two of them broke up some small, square bales of hay into the horses’ mangers. Eddie and Pete had taken Simon outside to see the mules and the donkeys Jerome used for breeding them. “It’s been quite a day,” he replied. “Not only have I gained more insight into how much adjusting Amanda did when she and the girls moved into our house, but . . . well, the service this morning and the people I met have given me a lot to think about as I repair the place in Clearwater.”

  “I bet that’s right. It had to rip a hole in your heart, seeing how much damage those trees did to your home,” the younger man remarked. “Now that I’ve sent that mule team back to its owner, I’d be happy to help with your renovations if you need me.”

  “I appreciate that. And by the way,” Wyman added with a wry smile, “denki for suggesting that we bring Amanda’s furniture with us. I never realized how much it meant to her.”

  Jerome chuckled. “What man has ever figured out what truly makes a woman happy? That can change from one day—one hour—to the next.”

  “Jah, there’s that.” Wyman grabbed a bucket to fill it from the pump and then he paused, listening. “Where’s that train I hear? It doesn’t sound far off.”

  “Cuts across the west forty, not far from Cedar Creek. If you’d follow the creek—and the tracks—through the countryside, you’d eventually end up at your place, you know.”

  As the water filled his bucket, Wyman mentally tried to sketch the railroad’s route from here to Clearwater. “Now why didn’t I realize that? Guess I’m so used to taking the county highways or the other side roads, I don’t have much reason to travel north—”

  “Because it’s all hills and trees. Mostly English-owned hobby farms and hunting acreage out that way,” Jerome pointed out. “Not even a feed store or any other services we Plain folks would use.”

  Wyman considered this as he dumped the water into a trough and refilled his bucket. “Could you and I take a ride around this farm?” He had no idea where such a question had come from, but it seemed logical to look around now that he was going to live here for a while. “I didn’t marry Amanda for her land, so I have no idea where the boundaries are or what her fields are like,” he added with a laugh.

  “You betcha. We can saddle up after supper.”

  The afternoon passed quickly, filled with chores. As Wyman bowed for prayer before their simple supper of soup and sandwiches, he asked God for the words that probably should have been spoken when his extended family had first gathered around the Brubaker table. He could have done several things differently when he’d brought Amanda and her girls into his home . . . yet now he felt prodded by a new motivation. The preacher’s words ran repeatedly through his mind: the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest. He wasn’t sure why so many unusual thoughts were occurring to him today, but he took them as gifts from God. Not ideas to be dismissed.

  “As I look at all of my children—and all of us adults—gathered at this table, I’m grateful that our family has come through the storm in much better condition than our home did,” he began.

  Around the long table, spoons paused above soup bowls and eyes focused on him. Wyman slipped his hand over Amanda’s, bolstered by the steady beat of her pulse and the love in her eyes. Was he reading his own emotions into her expression, or was his wife still aglow from the fellowship they’d shared with her friends at church?

  “Even so,” Wyman continued, “this seems like a gut time to discuss remodeling our family as we rebuild our home. As I watched each of you today at church, I saw improvements in our relationships, but as your dat I need to state some expectations . . . to be sure we’re all on the same page now that we’re starting a new chapter as a family.”

  Vera and his boys glanced warily at one another, while Amanda’s girls looked apprehensive. It wasn’t his intention to instill fear in their young hearts, but children often learned best when they had to account for their actions—a concept he’d let slide after Viola died. He also realized that Lizzie and the twins hadn’t had a father’s guidance for four years—since before Cora and Dora were born—so he hoped to guide them rather than alienate them as he spoke.

  “Eddie and Pete, I was glad to see you joining in with the local folks at church and during the meal today,” he began. “Even so, several of your recent remarks—and your attitudes—have suggested rebellion rather than respect. Especially concerning Amanda.”

  The boys’ eyelashes lowered. They listened without comment.

  “If you think you’re too old to obey Amanda and me, then you’re old enough to be out on your own. And while leaving home might sound tempting, be very careful about assuming that you’d be able to support yourselves,” Wyman stated firmly. “Amanda’s not the mother who bore you, but she’s in charge of this family now. I expect you to decide on an occupation soon, Eddie—and you, Pete, are to apply yourself at school here in Bloomingdale even though it’s only temporary. I don’t want to hear of any more shenanigans that upset Lizzie. And I hope she’ll show you kindness and consideration as you get a taste of being the new kid in the classroom. Understand me, boys?”

  Pete and Eddie nodded, while beside them, Simon smiled smugly. “Bad wabbit, Peter wabbit,” he whispered.

  “And, Simon.” Wyman gazed at his five-year-old until the boy looked up at him. “Stop scratching on the other side of your sisters’ wall with a currycomb, and making wolf noises in the night to scare them.”

  As Simon looked ready to deny these escapades, Cora’s and Dora’s eyes widened. “I wondered if it was Simon!” one of them crowed.

  “Jah, and we’ve told Mamma there’s no wolf in this house,” her twin chimed in. Both girls looked triumphantly across the table at their mischievous brother.

  “Which means you twins—and Alice Ann—will sleep in your own beds now, like big girls,” Amanda added emphatically. “And, Simon, you and I will have a chat about where Wags will spend the night, as well.”

  “Gut points. I’m glad we’ve solved that little mystery.” Wyman took a bite of his ham sandwich, letting the kids absorb his words . . . and wonder what he might say next, about whom. He was pleased that Amanda had joined him in this discussion about discipline—and overjoyed that their bed would be for just the two of them.

  He smiled at Vera then, and at Lizzie. “I enjoyed watching you girls at the meal today, talking and laughing with your friends. I hope this means you’ll be more patient with each other about sharing a room—and more considerate about each other’s private belongings,” he added in a purposeful tone. “Consider it practice for when you get married,
because the both of you have had your own rooms for so long it’ll be a real eye-opener when you have to share the space with your husbands. And share the bed.”

  The girls’ cheeks flushed but the glance they exchanged suggested they were already getting beyond their difficulties. “Matter of fact,” Vera said, “I’ve decided to buy Lizzie her own diary next time we’re at the mercantile. Writing about your troubles can help you sort them out, and when you jot down the gut things that have happened, you can smile about them again when you read through your entries.”

  Lizzie’s grin was a sight to behold. “Denki, Vera. What a wonderful-gut idea,” she replied. “I’m lucky to have you for a big sister.”

  Wyman was so pleased that the girls had reconciled, but there was another matter he needed to address. “Lizzie, I know you feel better now that you’re back in Bloomingdale,” he said gently. “I hope you’ll make every effort to get along with Teacher Elsie and the Clearwater scholars when we return to the other house. Do you think you can do that—especially if Pete stops pestering you?”

  Lizzie let out a long sigh. “I’ll try to do better. At least I’ve got longer dresses now, like the other girls.”

  Wyman nodded. He decided not to press Vera to be more accommodating about Amanda’s furniture. She had lost so many of her mother’s belongings in the storm—and their kitchen and front room would be totally redecorated anyway . . . He really needed to call Amos Coblentz for a bid but for some inexplicable reason, he seemed to be dragging his feet about that.

  Alice Ann’s giggle coaxed Wyman back to his present purpose. She was ecstatically jamming a chunk of ham sandwich into her mouth after Amanda had cut it for her, and his toddler’s affection for her new mamm delighted him. There was no point in telling Alice Ann to start talking, though, so he would touch on a couple more points and then let everyone eat in peace.

  “Along this same line, I believe we should all show Jemima more patience and respect,” he went on as he smiled at Amanda’s mother-in-law. “Those four pies on the counter—and all the things you bake for us—are a thoughtful way of sharing yourself. Especially since we can make them disappear as fast as you can bake them.”

  Jemima’s cheeks flushed as she smoothed her kapp over her steely gray hair. “What with my husband and son gone, I’m grateful that you’ve given me a place . . . and a way to be useful,” she murmured. “I’ll try to smile more and complain less.”

  Wyman nodded, pleased to hear this—and even more gratified when Amanda squeezed his hand.

  Then he clapped the young man at his right on the shoulder. “And let’s also express our appreciation to Jerome, who has restocked the kitchen and the fridge and done so much more for us—even before we took over his house. You’re a part of our family now, too, you know.”

  “Happy to help you folks out,” Jerome replied with a shrug. “Truth be told, it’s awfully quiet out here with just me and the mules.”

  The meal continued in silence then, yet Wyman sensed the kids were more pensive than peeved at him. As they finished the main course, Vera rose to cut the pies while Lizzie opened a flat container and began to put other treats on a plate.

  “It so happens Abby sent along a little something yesterday—besides our new clothes and underthings,” she said as she set the plate in front of Simon.

  The five-year-old looked ready to pop, he was so excited. “Fried pies!” he crowed. “Ask and you shall receive! Knock, and Abby will answer.”

  As the kitchen filled with laughter, Wyman gave thanks for the love this family shared even as they experienced some growing pains. Special moments like this one were what he’d envisioned when he’d courted Amanda. Watching these kids help one another during yesterday’s move and socialize at church today had made him believe that they could indeed be one big, happy family if they kept working at it. God didn’t make mistakes, after all. He had brought the Brubakers and the Lambrights together for a good reason. . . .

  And now that you’ve told the kids how you expect their behavior to change, how will YOU contribute to this remodeling project? If you’re all words and no action, it’s only hot air. You must follow through. You must do better.

  Chapter Thirty

  Amanda shook a damp plum-colored dress until it snapped, and then hung it on the clothesline. Beside her, Vera did the same with a dress of deep green. They bent toward the laundry basket and then pegged the clothes in a rhythm they had acquired during many washings—for nearly every day was laundry day in a household of twelve.

  “You looked so pretty at church in your new green dress,” Amanda said. “Abby does such a gut job of sewing, and she chose a fabric that’s easy to care for, too.”

  “I enjoyed having something new to wear,” Vera answered. “I tend to let the sewing slide, as I’d rather tend the kids or cook.”

  “Those are important jobs, too,” Amanda reaffirmed. “And I’m grateful for the way you’ve spent time with Cora and Dora in the kitchen. When Jemima’s not feeling gut, she gets impatient and shoos them away.”

  Vera cranked the pulley to send the hanging clothes toward the barn and bring open clothesline in front of them. Amanda took in the blue sky and the long line of dresses, pants, and shirts flapping in the early November breeze. She worded her next thought carefully, hoping not to upset her new daughter. “It didn’t occur to me yesterday, but you probably missed seeing your friends at the Singing in Clearwater,” she said. “You’d be welcome at this district’s Singings, of course—but I could understand why you wouldn’t want to go by yourself. It’s a shame Eddie and Lizzie are too young to attend.”

  Smiling, Vera shook out Lizzie’s new maroon dress. “After all the work of moving on Saturday, I was ready for a day of rest,” she admitted. “Lizzie was introducing me to a lot of the young people at your church, though. Especially the fellows.”

  Amanda chuckled. “Jah, I saw a few of them looking you over, too. And now that you’re not constantly in charge of the little ones, I hope you’ll do more things you enjoy with your friends.”

  “All in gut time. I’ve had a lot of new situations to figure out this past month,” she replied. “And now that we’ve all shifted into your house, I understand why you were feeling . . . displaced after you married Dat. I’m sorry about the way I wanted the dishes and furniture just like Mamm kept them.”

  Displaced? Now, that was a word Amanda had never associated with Plain families. “Don’t fret about that another minute, Vera,” Amanda insisted as she slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Nobody likes to change their homes, especially after their mamm or a spouse dies. It would feel like we were throwing those folks themselves away if we got rid of all their belongings. This house still looks pretty much as it did even before I married Atlee.”

  Vera nodded, listening. She wasn’t one to let on, so Amanda wondered how Wyman’s eldest was handling the destruction of her home. “I’m sorry those trees crashed into your house and destroyed your bedroom and the kitchen,” she murmured. “That’s a lot to lose—more adjusting than I faced when I married your dat, because it was my choice to leave this place.”

  When they had hung all the laundry in the basket, the two of them went back into the house. Amanda enjoyed having only the girls here today, as Wyman, Jerome, and Eddie had taken Simon to work at the Brubaker place. After sampling some fresh snickerdoodles, which the twins were baking with Jemima, Amanda and Vera carried buckets of hot, soapy water into the room where the potter’s wheel and ceramic supplies had once been.

  “I’m afraid we’re behind on more than the fall cleaning at this place,” Amanda remarked as she gazed at the blank walls. “With the furniture gone, you can see how badly the paint has faded. This must seem like a very run-down old house compared to what you’re used to, Vera. But after Atlee passed, I had to be very careful with my money.”

  As Vera knelt with her scrub brush, a grin fli
ckered at her lips. “Maybe you should set Eddie loose with a roller,” she said. “Dat made him paint all our bedrooms when he smarted off about how I wasn’t keeping up with the cleaning—how dingy the house was looking—after Mamm passed, and we found out how really gut he is with paint. Eddie won’t say so, but he got a kick out of doing it, too. Decided to keep painting until he’d done the whole house.”

  “Now there’s a thought. Eddie seems tired of cleaning up at the other house, so we could put him to work here!” Although Amanda was laughing, she was seriously interested in this idea. “If we get right on it, we’ll probably have enough warm days left to open the windows in each room as he paints it. And who knows? That might be a career for him to consider.”

  “It would get Dat off his case, too,” Vera said with a laugh.

  As the day passed while she was doing more laundry and the deep cleaning, Amanda became more determined to spruce up these neglected rooms. Yet it seemed like a bad time to bring up the subject of painting this house when Wyman’s place needed so much more time and money spent on it—especially if they were to get the main structure and the roof repaired so the house was enclosed before winter. And because it took more than an hour in each direction for the drive, Wyman was putting in some long days.

  At supper, Amanda could see how tired her husband looked, and how preoccupied. She set aside her big ideas about painting this place . . . after all, they wouldn’t be living here for long. Jerome didn’t seem to mind that the walls weren’t fresh—especially now that all the furnishings were back in their original spots.

  After their evening meal was cleaned up, Wyman called them together for the evening’s devotions. Amanda enjoyed hearing her husband read God’s word aloud in this cozy front room by the lamplight, just as Atlee had done years ago.

  “Each day as we’ve worked lately, I’ve been thinking about what the Lord had in mind when he sent the storm that destroyed our home,” he said as he flipped through the big Bible’s pages. “And these words from the prophet Isaiah keep coming back to me. ‘Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old,’” he read. “‘Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.’”