Amanda Weds a Good Man (2 page)

Amanda smiled sadly as she held up two pitchers that no longer had their handles. “I form them on my pottery wheel, and when they've dried I glaze them and fire them in my kiln.”

“Would you mind if I take the broken stuff?”

Surprised, Amanda considered the request. Vera's eyes were lit up with interest, as though she truly loved the pottery even though it was shattered. “I don't know what you'd do with it,” she murmured, “but it's not like I can sell repaired plates and pitchers, either.”

“I'm sorry this has happened, Amanda. I'll pay you for what Simon broke,” Wyman offered as he squeezed her shoulder. “At least you won't be needing the income after we marry, jah?”

“Denki, Wyman. That's generous of you.”

As much as she had come to love Wyman Brubaker during these past months of their courtship, a red flag went up in Amanda's mind. He—and most men—didn't understand that her pottery was much more than a way to earn money. It had been her salvation after Atlee had lost a leg to gangrene and then lost his will to live . . . a way to focus her mind on cheerful designs and colors instead of becoming lost in the darkness of her grief after he died.

Wyman ran the only grain elevator in the area, so he was able to provide quite well for a large family. Yet as she considered mixing her Lizzie and the twins—not to mention her opinionated mother-in-law—with the three rambunctious Brubaker boys, Vera, and toddler Alice Ann, Amanda wondered what she was getting herself into. Everyone seemed amiable enough now, but what if their good intentions went by the wayside once they were all together in one household?

Would they be one big happy family, as Abby had predicted? Or had she let herself in for more major changes than she could handle by agreeing to marry Wyman Brubaker?

W
yman gazed around the vast interior of the Cedar Creek Mercantile as he stood beside its owner. He and Sam Lambright had been good friends since they were boys, when Wyman's parents had come here from Clearwater to shop and Sam's dat had run the store. “So what did you think when Amanda told you of our wedding plans?”

“High time,” Sam replied smugly. “Wasn't it last winter that I suggested her as a potential wife?”

Wyman shrugged. “Took me a while to get over losing Viola. And with Vera to keep the house running and watch after Simon and Alice Ann, I . . . I wasn't in a hurry to hook up again, at my age.”

“At your
age
?” Sam punctuated his question with an elbow to Wyman's ribs. “Are any of us getting any younger? I can't think you'd want to raise five kids alone—especially since Vera will be starting a family of her own soon.”

“Let's not rush things, Sam. She's only seventeen.”

“And what of Alice Ann?” his friend asked quietly. “Is she talking yet?”

Spotting his toddler in the seat of Vera's shopping cart, Wyman sighed. Alice Ann had been only a year old, snuggled against Viola's shoulder that fateful day when they'd been hurrying to bale the hay before it rained. His wife had been walking alongside the mules when a thunderclap spooked them. Viola had grabbed their harness and then slipped in the wet grass . . . had let go of the baby just as she got crushed beneath the hay baler. It was a scene Wyman would never forget, or forgive himself for. His sweet, orderly world had ended in seconds, and a speech therapist believed the shock of witnessing her mamm's death had rendered their youngest daughter mute.

“No, she's still not talking. Looks ready to blurt something out every now and again—and she understands everything we say,” he murmured. “We pray on it a lot.”

“And I'll keep praying with you,” Sam replied. “It'll be gut for all of you to have Amanda there, and an improvement for her and her girls, as well. It's a match made in Heaven, I'm telling you.”

Wyman caught a movement on the opposite end of the store and excused himself. He'd just reimbursed Amanda for her broken pottery, and he had no intention of allowing Simon to do more damage inside Sam's store. And what had gotten into Pete, that he'd put a hook on a fishing pole and was trying to snag Lizzie Lambright's kapp with it?

“You're asking for trouble, son,” Wyman called out as he hurried toward the tackle boxes and lures. Several shoppers followed his gaze to where a rod was angled over a section of shelves and its line dangled just above unsuspecting Lizzie's head. And who could miss the way Eddie was chatting with Lizzie, holding the end of her cart, so his brother knew where to ease the hook lower . . . lower. . . .

Lizzie's shriek rang out. Wyman winced, hoping she didn't snag her hand when she clutched at the white kapp that floated a foot above her head.

“Pete! Eddie!” he snapped. “Enough of your foolishness.”

His teenage sons had sense enough to look penitent when he reached them, but the prank had accomplished what they'd hoped: poor Lizzie appeared mortified while her sisters, Cora and Dora, giggled at her. Wyman grabbed the clear fishing line, unhooked the starched white kapp, and handed it to the young lady who would soon be living under his roof.

“Pete, you know where you need to be, and right this minute,” Wyman said, aiming his voice over the top of the shelf. He sighed. Had living two years without their mother turned his older boys into such troublemakers? As Lizzie hastily replaced her prayer covering, he noted the bags of chicken feed she had probably been looking at when Eddie had waylaid her.

“Sorry, Lizzie,” Pete said as he strolled toward them. “I didn't mean to—”

“Jah, you did!” the girl retorted. Her cheeks turned bright pink as she tied the strings of her kapp beneath her chin.

“You boys are old enough to know better,” Wyman muttered. “Not only was your prank unspeakably rude, it wasn't smart, either. What if that hook had caught Lizzie on the cheek? Or in her eye?”

“Just give me a sack of that chicken feed,” Lizzie muttered. “And turn loose of my cart, Eddie Brubaker!”

A few moments later both boys had apologized and Lizzie had moved on, but Wyman could only shake his head. Thank goodness Amanda hadn't witnessed this little scene while she was helping her mother-in-law across the store, but she would certainly hear about it. He told Vera to finish her shopping quickly and then made his way toward the checkout counter, where Sam was loading a customer's order into her cart.

“Sorry about that,” Wyman said quietly. “I should've followed Vera's suggestion and left the boys at home.”

Sam's smile was kind. “Eddie and Pete were flirting with a pretty girl. No harm done, really.”

“But they're fifteen and thirteen!”

“And you didn't exasperate your folks when you were that age?” Sam teased. “Why, I can recall when you and I unscrewed the caps of the salt and pepper shakers at Abe and Beulah Mae's wedding—”

“Shh! My boys don't need any more ideas.” Wyman let out the breath he'd been holding. Maybe he
was
blowing this incident out of proportion, but he'd overheard folks saying his kids needed a mother's firm hand and watchful eyes. “This hasn't been Amanda's best shopping trip. I hope she won't change her mind about marrying me.”

“She's patient and kind, the very definition of love,” Sam replied. “Everybody's getting the prewedding jitters, I suspect. It'll all work out as God intended, my friend.”

“I hope you're right.” He looked at the tall, slender fellow with the graying beard, grateful that Sam had displayed such understanding. The Cedar Creek district was blessed to have him for their new preacher. “Did you and Amanda set a date? Abby was saying you'll be performing the ceremonies for your Matt and Phoebe soon, as well.”

Sam lifted the page of the wall calendar that hung behind him. “Here in the Cedar Creek district we always hold weddings on Thursdays . . . so how's the second Thursday of October work for you? That'll be the eighth.”

“Can't thank you folks enough, Sam. I'll be there.”

“It's always a better start for a marriage when the groom shows up,” Sam teased. He picked up the pencil beside his cash register. “I'll write you in, Wyman. No wiggling out of it now.”

Vera was pushing her loaded cart up to the counter, so Wyman rounded up his three sons. The four of them went outside to fetch a pair of buggy wheels from his wagon and then crossed the blacktop to Graber's Custom Carriages, with Wags circling them excitedly. It was a fine autumn day, so Wyman tried to enjoy the crunch of fallen leaves beneath his feet and the panorama of farmland . . . woolly sheep grazing in nearby pastures, and the deep green cedars that swayed in the breeze along Cedar Creek. “I hope you boys have gotten your shenanigans out of your system,” he warned as he opened the door.

Inside the carriage shop, the heavy smell of paint and the tattoo of pneumatic drills filled the air. By the looks of it, the buggy business was keeping James Graber and his men very busy.

“Hullo there, Wyman! Gut to see you Brubakers on this beautiful day,” a familiar voice called out above the racket. James had lifted the front of his welding mask and was smiling at them from beside the nearest workbench. “What can I do for you?”

As Wyman showed James where his wheels needed some repair, his boys started toward a young redheaded fellow who was brushing deep green paint on a nearly finished wagon. Noah Coblentz had apprenticed with James a while back. Wyman wondered if Eddie shouldn't be looking for a place to learn a trade, as well, since he showed no interest in working at the elevator.

“We can have these ready in a few days,” James said. He attached a tag to one of the wooden wheels before leaning them against his bench. “So how've you been, Wyman? Busy at the elevator now that the harvest has started, jah?”

“The corn's coming in,” Wyman said with a nod. “English fellows with bigger, fancier combines are always the first, and this year they haven't had much of a crop. The drought's going to hit us all right in the pocketbook, I'm afraid.”

“Makes me grateful to work in a business where Plain folks need vehicles, rain or shine,” James replied. He glanced over to where Wyman's sons were chatting with Noah. “Your boys are growing like weeds. Has Simon started to school?”

“Next fall,” Wyman replied, and then he couldn't help smiling. “Meanwhile, he'll be keeping Amanda Lambright busy, because she and I are getting hitched in a few weeks.”

“You don't say!” James clapped him on the back. “That's mighty gut news for all of you.”

On impulse, Wyman chucked James's clean-shaven chin. “Time for
you
to be sporting a beard, the way I see it. You and Abby have been a pair forever, haven't you?” he teased. “Better take notes at our wedding. We'll show you how it's done.”

James's cheeks colored a bit. “Matter of fact, Abby and I are moving in that direction. We'll tie the knot in our own gut time.”

“Ah. Sounds like I'd better stop kidding you about it then.”

“Emma and my parents do plenty of that, jah,” James replied.

“And your sister's well? And how about your folks?” Wyman inquired. “Haven't seen them for a long while, now that Carl Byler farms your dat's ground and hauls his crops to the elevator.”

“Our family's fine, all things considered,” James replied. “And with the two Lambright weddings and yours coming up, maybe Emma will find herself a beau. She's being a gut daughter, looking after our parents, but she deserves a home of her own with a husband and children to love her.”

Wyman thanked James and rounded up his sons again, realizing how fortunate he was. He had a home, he had children, and soon he would have a wonderful new wife to complete the picture of domestic satisfaction James had described. Like a jigsaw puzzle, his life would again have all its pieces in place when Amanda joined her family with his.

A sense of completion filled him. He'd set his wedding date and the Lambright family was hosting his ceremony, so maybe this exasperating morning had served a higher purpose after all.

“G
lad you could come out with me on this fine fall afternoon,” James said as he helped Abby up into his rig. “It's too pretty a Saturday to spend all of it in the shop.”

When he was in the driver's seat, Abby scooted just close enough that their arms brushed. “Jah, and I've had about all I can handle of working at the mercantile for the week. Three busloads of English tourists came in today, so I've had to straighten the shelves again and again,” she said. “Some of those folks chattered on their cell phones the whole time they were in the store. That makes for a lot of racket!”

James lightly clapped the reins on his gelding's back. “Jah, I see that a lot, too. Makes you wonder what-all they find to talk about.”

He could think of several topics to discuss with Abby, however—such as asking how the preparations were going for her nephew Matt's wedding on Thursday, or whether her niece Phoebe's new house would be completed before she married Owen Coblentz the following week. This flurry of weddings made him very aware of the important things he wanted to say to the woman beside him.

How fresh and vibrant Abby looked, in a butterscotch-colored dress that complemented a face made rosier by the autumn breeze. He wasn't surprised that she'd brought along a lidded container for the Brubaker family, because no matter how busy Abby was, she always made the time and effort to share her goodness with others.

“Going to show me what's in your pan?” James hinted.

Abby smiled as though she'd been waiting for him to ask. When she popped off the lid, the aroma of cinnamon and other spices teased him. “When you mentioned you were delivering Wyman's wheels,” she said, “I packed some of the pumpkin whoopie pies I'd made for the meal after church tomorrow. I don't suppose you'd want to taste one—to be sure they're all right for the Brubaker kids, of course.”

“Oh, we shouldn't take the chance that your goodies aren't perfect,” James teased.

When he bit into the treat Abby held in front of his mouth, he delighted in the moistness of the pumpkin cookies . . . the sweet tang of cream cheese filling as it covered his tongue. “Oh, my,” he murmured. “This treat's
almost
as wonderful-gut as you are, Abby.”

“Oh, James, you say the sweetest things.” Abby nibbled at the whoopie pie before holding it in front of him again. “Pumpkin's one of my favorite flavors. What flavors do
you
like?”

At that moment, with her face mere inches from his and her lips slightly parted, James couldn't think rationally about food or anything else. He leaned toward Abby and met her mouth with his, searching . . . tasting a deep sweetness that went beyond sugar and spices. “You, Abby,” he whispered. “You surely must be the best flavor there is, and I'm glad God's brought us together in time for me to realize that.”

Abby looked so pleasantly surprised that James knew he'd remember the expression on her face forever. “We have the rest of our lives to share, James,” she replied quietly. “And now that you've finally caught up to my feelings, it's my mission to learn as much as I can about what you like and don't—”

“You can't go wrong, Abby. As long as I'm with you, I'll be a happy man.” James glanced at the road to ascertain their location, because Abby's presence often made him lose track of where he was and what he intended to say. He gazed into her eyes again, hoping he got his words right. “Do . . . do you want to court for a while, then? What with so many folks tying the knot—”

“With all these weddings in the next few weeks, I'm glad I don't have to get ready for my own,” she insisted. “Mamm and Barbara are spending every spare moment baking bread. Or they're updating Beulah Mae Nissley about more folks coming from out of state, so she can figure out how many chickens to roast for the two big dinners. It would almost make more sense if both weddings were on the same day.”

Abby paused to inhale the fresh air. “But then, that would deprive each couple of their special celebration, wouldn't it? I still have wedding dresses to make for Mamm and Phoebe, along with my usual sewing for other folks,” she went on. “If you and I are going to hitch up, James, I'd like it to be at a time when we're not so busy.”

Will that day ever come?
While he felt relieved that Abby didn't think other couples were getting a head start on happiness, James also realized that Abby's Stitch in Time and Graber's Custom Carriages weren't going into a slack period anytime soon—or at least he hoped they weren't.

And then there was the matter of actually proposing to her. While he and Abby had reached an understanding that they intended to court and marry, it was only fitting to ask her properly. James wanted to leave nothing undone when it came to giving Abby everything she deserved, everything that could possibly make her as happy as she made him.

But when the tall grain elevator buildings came into sight on the horizon, he filed away all thoughts of romance. Even though he and Abby both enjoyed Wyman's kids, it would be more like a circus than a date once they got to the Brubaker farm. Sure enough, as they turned in at the long lane, James spotted a boy racing around in the yard, tossing a neon yellow tennis ball for his boisterous dog. Wags was part German shepherd and part something else, and even though he was still a pup, he was nearly as tall as Simon.

“I vaguely recall having that much energy at one time,” James remarked.

“Ah, but you still have plenty of energy, James. You've just learned how to focus it on the jobs that need doing.” Abby waved as a young woman stepped out of the Brubakers' large white farmhouse with a toddler on her hip. “And someday when you're a dat, you'll figure out how to spend time with your kids, even when you think you couldn't be any busier at your shop.”

James considered what his woman had just said. It tickled him that she was thinking about starting a family, even if the Brubaker bunch would give any woman pause. Wyman had five nice-looking, well-intentioned kids, but it seemed they raised a ruckus everywhere they went—probably because their dat couldn't keep after them the way Viola had. “Let's hope Amanda can establish herself as the mamm of this big, blended family before they overwhelm her,” he said as they pulled up beside the house.

“She's got her work cut out for her,” Abby agreed.

The huge gray dog bounded toward the rig with the tennis ball locked between his front teeth, managing to bark with his mouth full.

“Wags—whoa, boy!” Simon hollered as he ran toward them. His straw hat had blown off, so when he stopped alongside the buggy, he gazed up at them with windblown hair and a grin full of mischief. “Whatcha doin' out this way, James Graber? And whatcha got in that box, Abby? Treats for
me
?”

James hopped down from the rig to assist Abby. “You'd best make your dog behave, son,” he said, “because if he knocks those whoopie pies out of Abby's hand, there won't be any left for you, ain't so?”

Without missing a beat, Simon snatched the ball from between his dog's teeth and lobbed it as far across the yard as he could. When Wags ran after it, the boy stood before them with a hopeful expression on his face. “Whoopie pies? Those are my favorite! Are they chocolate ones with marshmallow filling, or—”

“Simon! Mind your manners!” Vera stepped down from the porch, balancing Alice Ann on her hip. “Matter of fact, you'll sit in the swing until Abby offers you a goody.”

Simon's face fell. He turned and made quite a display of walking toward the house to wait.

“We're working on him,” Vera went on in a lower voice, “but he's been kind of wild since Mamm passed.”

“He couldn't have been much older than this little punkin when that happened,” Abby said as she patted Alice Ann's bottom. “And are you excited about getting a new mamm, sweetie?”

Alice Ann slipped her thumb into her mouth, gazing wide-eyed at Abby.

“I'm thinking Amanda will be gut for all of us,” Vera replied as she shifted her little sister onto her other hip. She looked at James. “If it's Dat you need to see, he'll be at the elevator a while longer, by the looks of those wagons lined up to unload their corn.”

“No need to bother him.” James took the two repaired wheels and a toolbox from the back of his buggy. “If you'll point me toward the rigs these go on, I can have them remounted in just a few.”

“I know where they go! I can help!” Simon, who hadn't yet reached the porch swing, jogged toward James again. His face glowed with the need to be useful.

“And you're just the sort of helper I'm looking for, too,” James replied. “No need for the girls to stand around while we do the work, ain't so?”

“Jah! You and me, we can do it, James.”

James's pulse sped up with an unexpected thrill. It wasn't often he got to spend time with kids, as his older sisters and their families lived a couple hours away. He'd forgotten how much fun it was when a five-year-old got excited about being his right-hand man. “How about if you carry the toolbox and lead the way, Simon. I'll handle these heavy wheels.”

When the boy grabbed the box's metal handle, he flinched at its weight, but then he hurried ahead to the nearest outbuilding.

“You folks have a lot of rigs,” James remarked when they'd stepped inside.

“Jah, this one's Eddie and Pete's,” the boy pointed out as they walked the length of the narrow building. “And this is the big one we take to church or—”

“And let's put one of these wheels on that back axle that's sticking out. We'll use your dat's jack,” James said as he took it from a peg on the wall. When the back end of the buggy was raised and steady, he smiled at Simon. “Can you slip this wheel onto the axle while I find us a linchpin?”

Simon grabbed the wooden wheel, which was nearly as tall as he, by its spokes and carefully lined up the hole in the center. “Got it!” he crowed.

“Gut job, Simon. You're a mighty strong young fellow.”

“So now what're ya doin'?”

James smiled at the boy's enthusiasm. “I'm lining up the holes just right and then you can steady the wheel while I drop the linchpin in place. Hold it for me riiight . . .
there
.”

Simon put his whole body into this task as James slipped the metal pin into its slot. “Are you ready to have three new sisters move into your house?” he asked as he tested the spin of the repaired wheel.

Two brown eyes studied him intently. “You mean Cora and Dora? And Lizzie?”

“Jah. Along with their mamm and their mammi Jemima.” James pumped the jack until the buggy was sitting on the ground again. “That's a few weeks away, though.”

Simon's brows knit. “Does that mean Cora and Dora'll be sharin' my room?” he whispered doubtfully. “Playin' with my wagons and trains?”

James laughed and rumpled the boy's thick brown hair. “The twins are more likely to room with Alice Ann, but it's whatever your dat and your new mamm decide. There'll be a lot of changes after they get married, but you'll help them out just like you're helping me, ain't so?”

Simon looked around to be sure no one else was listening. “Does that mean Wags won't get to sleep with me no more?” he whispered near James's ear. “He's not s'posed to be there, ya know, but I let him in at night so he don't get lonely. You won't tell nobody, will ya?”

“Cross my heart,” James replied as he drew an X on his chest with a fingertip. “Now where's this other wheel go? We'll be finished here before two shakes of your best friend's tail.”

“And then we can have one of Abby's whoopie pies?”

“Sounds like the perfect pay for a job well done,” James replied.

About ten minutes later, James had replaced the wheel on one of the smaller buggies. As he and Simon reached the shed's doorway again, the boy let out a whoop and raced toward the porch. Vera and Abby had settled on the swing to enjoy the last rays of afternoon sunshine, with Alice Ann on Abby's lap, but they were ready for Simon: as soon as he stopped and asked politely, his older sister offered him the pan of treats.

Again Simon's excitement touched James. The boy spun in circles in the yard as he ate, barely keeping his treat away from his eager dog. When James focused on Abby, however, his heart stilled.

It was rare to see her sitting, for she usually bustled about helping with whatever tasks needed doing. Such a pleasure it was, to watch Abby cuddle a little girl on her lap, sharing her shawl. As the swing went forward and back in a lazy rhythm, the two women talked. Abby was focused on Alice Ann, smoothing the blond wisps that had escaped her braids.

She'll look this beautiful holding your children, too.

James inhaled deeply, watching from a distance until Abby caught his eye and waved. He really, really needed to ask this woman for her hand.
Soon.