Amanda Weds a Good Man (10 page)

A few minutes later the Grabers and Lambrights were heading toward the shiny black wagon with Jemima shuffling along beside them. The kids scrambled for places in the straw while Jerome, James, and Wyman made short work of hitching up the mules. Merle sat on one end of the driver's seat and Simon was in his glory on Jerome's other side. The two older women claimed the bench, and the younger adults squeezed in among the children in the wagon bed.

Two little heads popped up over the side of the wagon. “Mamma, come on!” Cora exclaimed. “It's gonna be real gut fun!”

“Jah, we've got a space right here for you!” Dora chimed in.

Amanda's heart fluttered. How sweet of her little girls to think of her in the flurry of their excitement . . . and truth be told, a ride in Jerome's wagon would lift her spirits. When she stepped off the porch, however, Wyman gave her a purposeful gaze from across the yard.

“Go have your fun,” Amanda said, hoping she sounded cheerful. “I'll want to hear all about it when you get home.”

As Jerome clucked at his team, the silver trim on the tack glistened in the sunlight with each spirited step they took. Everyone called out their good-byes, waving happily.

Amanda raised her hand, chiding herself for feeling so out of sorts. After all, she had just eaten a wonderful meal with good friends, and she had been blessed with a fine man. She loved Wyman deeply . . . felt lucky that such a strong, successful, attractive man had wanted her for his wife. Her husband of three days cut a fine figure coming toward the porch, his broad shoulders blocking out the team and wagon as they headed toward the road. The unmistakable glimmer in his eyes was for her alone.

Why did she feel so cranky? Why was a nap—by herself—what she craved most right now?

J
ames took Abby's hand beneath the loose straw, secretly glad that so many folks had come on this ride. What with Emma, the Brubaker brood, and Gail, Ruthie, and Beth Ann all crammed into the wagon, he and Abby couldn't avoid rubbing against each other as the vehicle swayed along behind the mules. Ordinarily such close physical contact would be considered improper, so James wanted to enjoy every moment of this delicious friction—right here beneath the watchful eyes of his mother and Jemima, from their perch on the bench.

“Do you have enough room, Abby?” he murmured. “I can scoot over if you—”

“You're fine, James.”

Her response echoed in his soul, taking on a much deeper meaning. Even though Abby inched away from him for the sake of propriety, she kept hold of his hand beneath the straw. For a moment James imagined himself in Wyman's place. What would it be like to finally become Abby's husband? To become one with her in body the way their hearts and spirits were already growing closer?

James inhaled her clean scent, mingled with the aroma of warm chicken and sticky buns. He wanted to kiss away the dab of frosting on her white apron. In his mind he let those thoughts flow toward their natural conclusion, as though he and Abby were totally alone . . . the way Wyman and Amanda were. A surge of longing made him suck in his breath and look away.

His mother's expression sent his randy thoughts flying: the eyes behind those old-fashioned glasses had missed little while he was a kid, and even now Mamm seemed to be reading his mind.

James shifted on the hard wagon bed, looking around to put his imagination in a safer place. Ruthie and Beth Ann were entertaining the twins and Alice Ann with a clapping game . . . Lizzie had ended up between Pete and Eddie and looked none too happy about it, while Vera, Emma, and Gail were discussing the recipe for the mac and cheese casserole everyone had devoured. In the driver's seat, Jerome was explaining to Simon how he'd woven the eight sets of traces between his fingers to control each of the mules. The ecstatic look on Dat's face made James grateful for the way Jerome had paid his father such special attention today.

But even surrounded by so many folks, James felt acutely aware of Abby . . . her breathing, and the pulse of her fingers in his, and the solidity of her warm, slender body.

Stop thinking about her body!

James cleared his throat. He couldn't help but smile at Abby even as he sensed a troubling thought behind her subdued brown-eyed gaze. Women were such complicated creatures—he certainly recalled that from when he was courting Abby's younger sister, Zanna. Now
there
was a girl who had provoked him almost beyond his ability to curb his urges.

A year ago this week you were to marry her.
What a miracle, that God had turned Zanna's betrayal into the blessing he now shared with Abby—a steadfast love that would see him through the ups and downs of their life together.

“Is everything all right?” he murmured. “You seem quiet.”

“I'm fine.”

James considered this. When a woman said she was fine, it generally meant she was not. But he had no idea what to do about that, or how to draw out her troubles while they were surrounded by so many people.

“I'm concerned about how . . .
overwhelmed
Amanda's feeling by all the changes in her life,” Abby clarified in a low voice.

Wasn't it just like Abby to be worried about a friend's welfare? James squeezed her hand. “Amanda's kept body and soul—and her family—intact through four difficult years,” he pointed out. “She'll figure out how everything fits together again. God didn't lead her to Wyman by mistake, after all.”

“That's true.”

Once again James sensed an undercurrent beneath Abby's too-short reply. He kept hold of her hand, hoping he'd get better at gauging her moods. He relaxed with the steady rhythm of the wagon and the bold staccato of the mules' steps . . . drifted in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine and the pleasant chatter around him. All too soon they were rolling down the last stretch of blacktop, toward the towering Clearwater grain elevator. The wagon bumped and jostled as it passed over the railroad tracks.

“End of the line,” Jerome called out. “I'd best head back to Cedar Creek to feed and water my team—and to share the supper Eunice invited me to,” he added with a lift in his voice. “I hope everybody's day has been as wonderful-gut as mine has.”

“Jah, this was great fun, Jerome!” Pete replied.

“Denki for taking us!” Eddie chimed in.

“Don't forget the picnic hampers and dishes you left in the kitchen,” Vera reminded them as the wagon came to a stop about halfway down the lane.

The Brubakers scrambled down from the wagon, scattering after they said their good-byes. Simon let out a whoop as Wags bounded out to greet them, which in turn gave the mules a start. Jerome, however, spoke to his team in a low, confident voice and settled the huge animals quickly.

“Emma and I can fetch the dishes and baskets,” Abby volunteered as the two of them scooted toward the end gate. “Sit tight, Eunice. We'll be right back.”

James guided Jemima toward the ladder, steadying her as she turned to plant one foot on the top rung and then the other. Jerome waited for her at the bottom, guiding her safely to the ground. Gail and the younger girls had hurried behind Abby and Emma to help gather up their pans, so James stood in the wagon bed watching them. It made a pretty autumn picture as they climbed the porch steps of the rambling white Brubaker house with the breeze rippling their dresses of bittersweet, evergreen, and butternut.

Once again his thoughts wandered toward Wyman and Amanda. Had they enjoyed their time alone? Had they gotten themselves dressed in time to—

None of your beeswax!
his conscience warned. And again his mother's pinched lips reminded him to keep such ideas from leading him astray.

“How'd you like that ride, Mamm?” He eased onto the bench beside her.

“Fine.”

James considered her tone. Once again, a one-word answer seemed to indicate something to the contrary.

“Oh,
fine
doesn't nearly cover it!” his dat crowed. “But my backside's ready to be at home in the recliner after so much bumping along.”

“I'm surprised the fellow who owns this rig didn't opt for a padded seat,” Jerome remarked as he resumed his place.

“Jah, it's been like sitting through church, except being bounced around.” Mamm stood up to stretch her stiff legs. “Of course, in church the young people aren't flirting and getting . . .
ideas
.”

James decided not to respond to his mother's remark. The girls were coming back down the lane, swinging their baskets—and wasn't it good to see Emma and Abby with their kapps together, sharing a laugh as only longtime friends could do? He was glad Abby's mood had improved. And when she smiled up at him, James felt as though the afternoon sun had warmed him through to the bones.

The ride home went quickly. Abby had chosen to sit across the wagon from him so she and Emma could visit, which suited him fine—he could watch her facial expressions as she talked. Gail, Ruthie, and Beth Ann joined in on their chat about how Thanksgiving was next month. Their discussion of pumpkin pies, roasted turkey, and corn bread stuffing made with dried cranberries and pecans made his stomach rumble.

Jerome slowed his team as Treva's Greenhouse and the Cedar Creek Mercantile came into view, and then expertly directed the mules up into the parking lot of James's carriage shop. “Here we are, folks,” he called out. “Sure glad you all could ride along today.”

“Wouldn't have missed it for the world,” Dat replied.

Emma headed into the house as though something was burning on the stove—ducking Jerome's attentions, most likely. And indeed, Jerome had all but ignored Emma today. Maybe that was his strategy, to keep his distance until Emma became more accustomed to him, much as he gained the confidence of the mules he trained.

James chuckled as he helped Mamm down the ladder. He could see some similarities between his sister and mules, but it wouldn't do to say such a thing out loud.

“See you at school tomorrow!” Beth Ann said as she headed to Rosemary and Matt's place.

“I'll be there,” Ruthie hollered back as she and Gail crossed the highway.

Dat had gone to fill the horse tanks, so James helped Jerome unhitch his team. They led the mules into the barnyard two at a time, to drink and munch on fresh bales of hay. As the three men strode toward the house, James was pleased to see Abby coming out the side door from the kitchen.

“I'll be along in a few, fellows,” he said.

Jerome shot him a knowing look, steering James's father into the house. “Don't do anything I wouldn't,” he teased.

When the door had closed behind them, James grabbed Abby's hand, intending to walk her to the road. “While I was in that wagon, bumping up against you, I was wishing we were all alone, Abby,” he murmured.

Her eyes widened. “I enjoyed the ride, too, James,” she replied quietly. “But . . .”

The pinkness in her cheeks—that expression of a shy, wary deer—reminded James again that he loved this woman more than life itself. Everyone in Cedar Creek knew that, too, so he needed to make it official between them. “But what, honey-girl? Something besides Amanda's situation was on your mind during the ride, ain't so?”

Abby closed her eyes and leaned back against the side of the house. Was she thinking about what to say? Or was this the invitation—the opportunity—he'd been looking for all day?

Marry me, Abby. . . . Abby, would you do me the honor of . . . I love you so much, would you be my wife?
Dozens of times the words had circled in his heart like a dog chasing its tail. Her sigh, her uplifted face, surely must be signs that she was waiting to hear what he so desperately needed to say.

James kissed her lightly, but it wasn't nearly enough. He took her face between his hands to kiss her more urgently. When she placed her hands on his shoulders, James eased away, his emotions driving him toward the moment they had both awaited. “Abby, will you—”

“Sorry to interrupt, but it's best that I have,” a deep, familiar voice announced.

James jumped and Abby let out a gasp. Sam Lambright was halfway up the lane and he looked none too happy. “I—I was just about to—” James stalled, not wanting to turn his proposal of marriage into a confession, for such a moment was far too special. Something he and Abby should share alone.

“Abby, you're the last person in this world I would call a bad example to your nieces,” Sam stated sternly. “But Gail and Ruthie could easily have seen you and James kissing so . . .
intently
. That sort of behavior's not allowed in public for gut reason—”

“I'm so sorry, Sam,” Abby murmured as she lowered her eyes. Her face turned five shades of red.

“—and truth be told, the both of you would be expected to make your confession before the church in a more conservative settlement,” her brother continued. “Now that I'm a preacher, I can't pretend I didn't see you.”

James's heart hammered in his chest as he eased farther away from Abby. “It's all my doing, Sam,” he said. “I got carried away—”

“Jah, that's what I was seeing, too.” Sam sighed as though this situation felt as uncomfortable to him as it did to James. “While I believe your feelings for my sister are true and honorable, that's the sort of affection that belongs behind closed doors, between a man and his wife. Otherwise it becomes lewd and lascivious, as the apostle Paul tells us in his letter to the Galatians.”

A sob escaped Abby. She looked so miserable that James wanted to kick himself for being careless about kissing her. He heard a shuffling near the side door and suspected that Emma—or Mamm—had come to call him in to supper, but had remained silent when she'd heard Sam's lecture.

“After the way Zanna disgraced us with her unwed pregnancy last year,” Sam murmured, “I'm not up for handling another scandal. Nor do I want to put our mamm through it again, Abby.”

Abby swiped at her eyes. “If it's a confession you want, I'll be there next Sunday to kneel—”

“And I'll be there right beside her,” James insisted. “It wasn't my intent to shame your sister. And you know that, Sam.”

Sam exhaled. He removed his black broad-brimmed Stetson and then replaced it, as though handling the new hat he'd bought for his ordination gave him the wisdom to make a sound decision. “I believe this matter can remain between the three of us,” he said. “I'll trust you not to let your affections get out of hand again—until you're married, of course.”

James sensed that the lightening of the preacher's tone was intended to make them feel better, but it only served as a reminder that he should have asked Abby for her hand long before this. “Denki, Sam,” he murmured. “You have my word on it.”

“Jah, I . . . I'll get on home now.” Abby gave James the saddest look he'd ever seen before turning to walk across the road.

James's heart clenched. He longed to escort her to her house, apologizing every step of the way. But he would have to stew in the juices of his regret for a while, and unfortunately so would Abby. If only he hadn't gotten so caught up in Wyman's request for some private time with his new wife. . . .

“So how was the ride? That's an impressive team Jerome's been training.”

James blinked, brought out of his woolgathering by Sam's question. Getting caught kissing Abby made for an awkward situation between him and her brother. “A gut time was had by all,” he replied in a subdued voice. “We're just sitting down to supper with Jerome, if you'd like to join us. He'll be happy to tell you whatever you'd like to know about those mules.”