Amanda Weds a Good Man (9 page)

James squeezed Abby's hand to keep from laughing out loud. Before Emma could reply, Jerome was lowering a ladder so Dat could climb to the high seat. Gail followed him, stepped into the wagon, and grabbed the picnic basket Abby handed up to her. Then up the ladder Abby scrambled, nimble as a monkey, while Ruthie and Beth Ann came running over from Matt and Rosemary's place.

James watched the indecision play on his mother's face. She was hesitant to go, yet she didn't want to let Dat out of her sight . . . or let him have all the fun, either. James didn't say a word. This was a chance for his mamm to decide how she preferred to spend her day, and for his sister to either accept Jerome's invitation or be left behind. James settled against the wall of the wagon beside Abby in the fresh, sweet-smelling hay. He knew an opportunity for adventure when he saw one. And how often did he get to enjoy being driven in such a fine rig behind eight magnificent mules?

“Jerome, I'll ride along on one condition,” his mamm called out over the kids' voices. She pushed up her glasses, shifting from one foot to the other with anticipation. Emma got a strange look on her face.

Jerome smiled up at the two women. “And what might that be, Eunice? I'm having a fine time with my mules today, and I'm in the mood to do anything you'd ask.”

Mamm's face lit up. She leaned over the railing like a girl being courted. “You've got to join us tonight for the supper I've fixed. And we've got some things to bring along for a picnic, too.”

“Hoo-
wee
!” Jerome cried as he lifted his hat in a salute. “Now how can a fellow say no to that? Come on down here, Eunice, and I'll help you up the ladder. From the bench, you can see for miles in every direction, just like a queen.”

“I'll get my shawl and pack the basket and be right back!”

James felt his heart flutter as his mother disappeared into the house with Emma. “I tell you what,” he murmured to Abby. “Jerome's got a real special way about him, especially with my parents. If Emma hangs behind, she's missing out.”

“Jah, but she's got to figure that out,” Abby replied. “I'm not going to coax her anymore.”

“Me neither.”

When his mamm returned, James helped her up over the last step from the ladder. He was glad to see his mother in such a fine mood—and happier yet to see Emma ascending the ladder behind her, even if she refused to look at Jerome. Winking at James, Jerome handed Emma's basket up to James and then joined Dat in the driver's seat.

“Are we all here, Merle?” he asked as he wove the eight sets of reins between his fingers.

James's dat looked back into the wagon bed, counting with his finger. “Seems to be nine of us, including you and me, Jerome.”

“Nine it is, then. Off we go!”

Everyone in the wagon cheered as the mules started toward the road. From beside the phone shanty, Sam, Treva, and Barbara waved them off. Rosemary and Matt had joined them, with Katie sitting on her new dat's shoulders.

“You folks can ride when I get back this afternoon, if you want,” Jerome called to them. “I'll be putting these mules through their paces all day.”

When they got past the mercantile and Treva's Greenhouse, to where the blacktop ran straight and flat for a few miles, Jerome urged the mules into road speed. James looked up from his seat in the wagon bed and held his breath.

Mamm had tied her kapp tight beneath her chin. She was gripping the edge of the bench to steady herself, but her smile was that of a woman fifty years younger as she watched the countryside pass by. Directly behind her, Dat clutched his black hat in his lap. He raised his face and closed his eyes to revel in the autumn sunlight as the breeze blew his silvery hair back over his ears like wings.

What a picture the two of them make, having such fun they've forgotten their age.
James's throat tightened. Who could know how much longer either of them might live? He captured this moment in his mind, a memory he would cherish forever.

The young girls were surprisingly quiet, kneeling on hay bales as they clung to the wagon's side. They, too, gazed out over the farmsteads as if fascinated by the sight, even though they knew every family who lived out this way.

“I'm glad you came along, Emma. It wouldn't be the same without you,” Abby said.

James leaned forward to smile past Abby at his sister. Emma was a tough one to figure out these days, touchy about every little detail—especially if a man was involved.

“How would it look if I was the only Graber who stayed behind?” Emma countered. “Mamm knew I'd have to come along if she went.”

James considered this. Did Emma believe he wasn't capable of looking after their parents on this outing? Or was she once again using Mamm and Dat as a convenient excuse not to get out more often? She had stopped attending Singings, saying everyone else was so much younger, and he couldn't recall the last time Emma had gone out on a date. James hoped she hadn't resigned herself to the fate of being a maidel—

Hopefully Emma will come around. After all, Abby had consciously chosen to remain unmarried, and look at her now.

James glanced at the winsome young woman beside him. Was it his imagination, or had Abby gotten prettier? Had the girl from across the road changed, or had his vision of her altered with his love for her? James slipped his arm around her and leaned contentedly against the side of the swaying wagon. As the
clip-clop! clip-clop!
of thirty-two mules' hooves beat out a loud, steady tattoo on the blacktop, James realized that he experienced
everything
differently now that he was with Abby.

He hoped that someday Emma would feel the same wonderment in her heart when she met the right man, the same joy of living with which Abby had blessed him.

A
manda peered into the fridge, overwhelmed again. She saw a couple of covered containers, a jug of milk, bacon grease, condiments in the door . . . and empty shelves. What did these people
eat
? Why was there no cheese, or cold cuts, or other foods most folks fell back on?

“This being Sunday, we're not supposed to cook,” she remarked to Vera and Jemima. “But with the move taking all day yesterday, it's not like we had time to prepare today's dinner, either.”

Vera smiled apologetically. “When the time gets away from me, I fry up bacon and eggs and potatoes. Everybody likes that. Or pancakes. Or French toast.”

“Do you suppose my hens have made friends with yours yet?” Jemima peered out the kitchen window toward the chicken house. “Might take a while to get eggs, while they decide on their new pecking order.”

“I did make a big batch of mac and cheese,” Vera said, pointing at a covered pan. “Shall we put that in the oven?”

“That sounds gut,” Amanda replied. “Then you can show me where everything is, so I don't scare your dat again, looking for knives.”

Once the casserole was in the oven, Amanda followed Vera around the large kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers. She stifled a sigh, wondering if she would ever get past feeling like an outsider. Vera, bless her, was being very helpful—and grateful that Amanda and Jemima were willing to do most of the cooking.

But this was still Viola Brubaker's kitchen. And while basic functions like making bread, setting the table, and preparing food from the deep freeze and the cellar shelves didn't vary much from one Plain household to the next, each wife had her own way of doing those things. And each woman arranged her kitchen to suit the way she worked. Amanda and Jemima had always stored basic baking ingredients in the pie safe, where they made pies and bread. She'd kept the heavier crocks and equipment down low, where they wouldn't fall on her. But Viola had arranged things differently. . . .

As Vera showed her the old pots and roasters, Amanda realized that Wyman's first wife had probably cooked with items belonging to his mother. While that wasn't unusual in families where several generations lived in the same home—she had moved into Jemima's kitchen when she'd married Atlee—it made Amanda long for her familiar pans and utensils. Jemima's perplexed expression said she was having the same thoughts.

But this wasn't the time to suggest major changes. Even if it wasn't the Sabbath, they would have to consider Vera's feelings before they could shift her mamm's cookware out to make room for their own.

Wags began barking outside, and then the younger children let out whoops.

“Lookie
there
!” Simon cried. “Sounds like thunder comin' down the road!”

“It's like a parade! Mamma—come quick!”

Amanda stepped out to the porch. Tired as she was, she wondered if those distant black horses and the matching wagon were somebody's funeral procession. Then her mouth dropped open. “Why, that's Jerome and his mules.”

“He was saying they were almost road-ready,” Jemima murmured. “But I had no idea about the fancy tack and wagon. Must've kept them under tarps in one of the sheds.”

“My stars, what a sight!” Vera smiled at the approaching spectacle. “We can go out for a better look, kids, but only if you stay right beside me, out of the road.”

“We're doin' it!” Simon bolted down the lane while Wags bounded ahead of him. Vera scooped up Alice Ann to follow him, and the twins jogged along on either side of her.

“Now, what do you suppose Jerome's up to?” Jemima asked. “We've not been gone from the farm but a day.”

“He's got riders, too.” Amanda couldn't yet distinguish who those other folks might be. “Hate to say this, but I hope he doesn't think he'll be getting a Sunday dinner like we would've fixed him at home.”

“He'd best put that notion out of his head pretty quick,” Jemima remarked. “But look at that fancy rig and those mules trotting along so perfect-like. He's a sight for sore eyes, ain't so?”

“He's that, all right,” Amanda said with a wistful laugh. “Let's get a better look.”

First, however, she stepped back into the house. “Wyman! You and Lizzie and the boys might want to step outside!” she said loudly. “We've got company.”

By the time she and Jemima had walked halfway to the road, the eight-mule hitch was slowing down to make the turn into the Brubaker lane. Vera had grabbed Simon's hand and was standing well off to the side in the grass. As the children called out their greetings, the occupants of Jerome's wagon popped up to reply.

“Why, that's Ruthie Lambright and Rosemary's Beth Ann,” Amanda remarked.

“Jah, and isn't that Merle Graber sitting alongside Jerome?” Her mother-in-law shaded her eyes with her hand. “Still don't know what our Jerome's cooking up, but he's in gut company.”

The tall black mules thundered along the hard-packed dirt lane, kicking up quite a cloud of dust in their wake. “Whoa there!” Jerome called out. His grin was nearly as wide as Merle's as he gazed at Amanda. “What do you think about
this
? Didn't I tell you I was into a bigger project than I've ever handled before?”

“Now
that's
a mule team,” Wyman said as he and the older boys joined them. “And you've picked a fine day to run the roads with them, too.”

Jerome shook Wyman's hand, and then hugged Amanda and then Jemima as though he already missed them more than he would admit. “I'm giving these mules a workout. They need to be around noise and crowds, so— Now don't take this wrong, Wyman, but your kids came to mind first thing.”

Wyman laughed as he helped Merle and Eunice Graber down the wagon's ladder. Eddie was cautiously holding his palm out to one of the lead mules while Pete corraled Wags and Simon to keep them from spooking the whole team. The twins rushed over to greet Ruthie and Beth Ann—and here came Abby, Gail, James, and Emma out of the wagon, as well.

Amanda's heart thumped harder as Lizzie came up beside her. “Isn't this a fine surprise, seeing Jerome and our friends from Cedar Creek?” she murmured.

Lizzie grabbed Jerome around the waist. “I want to ride, too! You never told me you were training your new mules to haul this
awesome
wagon.”

“Their owner brought the tack and the parade wagon that Saturday you girls were at the Lambrights' getting ready for the wedding,” he said as he hugged her. “I figured it might make for a nice surprise sometime, so here we are. And isn't this a perfect day for a picnic?”

“Jah, we've brought a basket along with ham and slaw and fried pies,” Ruthie piped up.

“I packed chicken and sticky buns,” Abby said.

“Emma and I made up a batch of applesauce last night, along with corn bread and cupcakes,” Eunice chimed in. “Plenty enough for everybody.”

Amanda's mouth dropped open. “We've put a big pan of mac and cheese in the oven, and were just wondering what else to have for our dinner,” she murmured. “And along came a feast, with our favorite people. It's an answered prayer.”

“You have no idea,” Jemima added under her breath. Then she found her smile. “We can set the food on the countertop for a buffet line. Won't take but a minute to get out plates and silverware—”

“We brought along that sort of thing, as well,” Emma said. She glanced at her parents and then winked at Amanda. “Might be easier to fill our plates, like you say, and then folks can sit on the porch, or on quilts in the yard, or at the table, if they like.”

“I'm for that!” Jemima declared as she started toward the house. “These old knees aren't much gut at getting up and down from the ground anymore.”

Thank you, Lord, for the unexpected turn this day has taken
, Amanda thought. She and the other women set up the impromptu meal while the fellows helped Jerome unhitch his mules so they could drink from the horse troughs. The buffet was soon arranged and after they gave thanks, happy conversations filled the kitchen as everyone loaded their plates. The men and boys gravitated toward the porch. Vera and Lizzie had spread quilts in the yard so Gail and the three younger girls could eat with them and keep track of the kids.

Amanda, Abby, and Emma were the last to go through the line. The kitchen seemed a good place to sit and visit, so they settled into chairs at the table with Eunice and Jemima. As Amanda gazed at her plate, filled with chicken, slaw, applesauce, corn bread, and Vera's mac and cheese, her heart welled up.

“This is a fine surprise,” she murmured. “We were just wondering how we'd get any sort of dinner together—”

“When glory be, our friends from Cedar Creek showed up with this wonderful spread.” Jemima glanced toward the screen door and lowered her voice. “It's been rough around the edges this morning, let me tell you. Nothing we won't adjust to, but it's . . . different here.”

“I'm glad we've brightened your day.” Abby smiled at Amanda over her chicken leg. “Jerome's taking the kids on a hayride after we eat, so maybe we girls should have a hen party while they're gone. We won't unpack or move anything, as it's Sunday, but we could help you decide where to put the furniture you moved here.”

Oh, but that idea brought sunshine to a cloudy day. Amanda had loved the clean simplicity of Abby's little house—and so had Wyman—so hearing Abby's suggestions about furniture placement might convince her new husband to move a few old things out and clear away some clutter that had accumulated since Viola's death. This thought made Amanda feel so much better that she dared to dream further. “It might be a while before I have time for my pottery, but I'd like to decide where my wheel will go,” she said in a rising voice. “It's downstairs with my boxes of glazes and—”

“Was that your kiln I saw behind the house?” Emma asked as she buttered her bread.

Amanda sighed. “Jah, the boys dropped it getting down from the wagon. The lid won't close now . . . It was my great-uncle Mahlon's, and I have no idea how I'll pay for a new one—”

“But the Lord provides—and where there's a woman, there's a way,” Abby insisted. “So for today, we'll concentrate on what we
can
accomplish. How's that?”

The lilt in Abby's voice convinced Amanda that somehow, someday she
would
be making her dishes again. “Denki for reminding me, Abby. You're such a gut friend.”

“And if we have specific places to put things, we're off to a stronger start,” Jemima murmured. “Don't wait too long to tell Wyman you're ready for your furniture to come in out of the machine shed, or he'll forget it's there. And if I'm to help with the cooking, we've got to put the flour and shortening and what-not where I can reach them. Preferably in the pie safe we brought.”

“I can wash the dishes if you girls want to work on that,” Eunice said. Her eyes looked magnified behind her thick glasses. “Always more fun to clean up at somebody else's house, you know.”

“Jah, and I'll grab a towel for drying,” Jemima added. “Not my place to say what should go where in Wyman's house.”

Amanda's heart beat faster. Surely, if she established her pottery-making space and had a placement plan for furnishings on the main floor, Wyman would get the hint. She needed to make this house
her
home as well as his.

As they rose from the table, however, Jerome and James stepped inside to get more dessert. “Everybody's wanting to go for a hayride when we've finished our dinner,” Jerome announced. “The kids are really excited—”

“And if the rest of us go along,” James joined in with a purposeful look at Abby and his family, “the newlyweds can have some quiet time together. Wyman said things were in an uproar last night with Amanda's kids getting settled into their new rooms.”

Amanda sighed. It seemed her plans for arranging the house had just been hitched to a mule team and hauled off. Then her cheeks prickled with embarrassment. It was one thing to talk about quiet time, but it was something else altogether that every adult in the room knew why Jerome and James were insisting they all go on the hayride. She suspected Wyman had told the young men about his unsatisfying night for that very reason.

Merle cleared his throat loudly. “I can ride around on that wagon all day, if it means I'm helping more little Brubakers come into the world.”

“Honestly, Merle!” Eunice said sourly. “We could've gone all day without hearing that.”

Emma glanced apologetically at Amanda. Abby looked ready to say something about their afternoon's plans, but then Wyman came inside and set his dirty plate in the sink. “Jerome says his mules need practice at stopping and starting with a lot of weight in the wagon,” he remarked. “We've got enough hills around Clearwater to give them a challenge, too.”

“If all of you fellows ride along, that team will get a gut test, then,” Abby insisted playfully. “We girls can clean up these dishes and get in some visiting—”

“Plenty of girls in this house to visit with, every single day,” Wyman pointed out. He slipped a possessive arm around Amanda's shoulder. “And my wife will have all the dishwashing help she needs, too, with Jemima, Lizzie, and Vera. There's a time and a place for everything.”

Especially for everything YOU want.
Amanda blinked at the bitterness of that thought, which had come at her from out of nowhere. Wyman was right about the additional kitchen help she had now, but it galled her that he'd convinced Jerome and James to leave the two of them alone for some
quiet
time. . . .

Am I out of line here, resenting the way the men have overruled my wishes? Or do I need to learn how to submit to a husband again, after four years of living without one?