Amanda Weds a Good Man (4 page)

“It was a lesson for all of us about being more careful,” Wyman summarized. “But I wanted to be sure it was all right for my gang to show up, so you'd be prepared to feed them. Eddie and Pete can eat their weight in food.”

“We'll plan for that,” Amanda said. “Jerome will be glad for the help, too. Denki for thinking of us, Wyman.”

“Anything for you, Amanda.”

Oh, but she could make the most of
that
unexpected sentiment. But if she teased him she might not hear it again.
Anything for you, Amanda . . .

“I'll be sure to thank Pete for thinking of us, as well,” she said. “I suspect he's coming as much to be around Lizzie as to make up for his trick with the fishing pole. They're at an awkward age.”

“Jah, and since they're not blood relations, we might have to watch how they take to each other as they get older,” Wyman remarked. “But it'll all work out. All in God's gut grace.”

After a few more moments of banter, they exchanged kisses and hung up. Amanda wished she could rest out here in the peaceful barn for a bit longer, running the more romantic moments of her courtship through her mind, but it wasn't fair to Jemima and Lizzie that she'd gotten out of some kitchen cleanup during these calls. And with the five Brubaker kids coming the day after tomorrow, there was no time to waste. Feeding that crew would require some advance preparation.

Get used to thinking bigger when it comes to meals
, she reminded herself as she brought jars of pie filling up from the cellar.
It's a gut thing you'll have Jemima, Vera, and Lizzie to help every day.

When her mother-in-law saw the quarts of apple, rhubarb, and cherry filling, however, she raised her eyebrows. “Having a pie frolic, are we?”

Amanda heard the weary edge in Jemima's voice and chose her words carefully. “Wyman just told me his kids want to come over on Saturday—”

“Now isn't that just like a man, thinking we want his wild bunch here when we've already got more work than we know what to do with?” Jemima removed the kapp from her silvery gray hair, looking every bit of her seventy-two years. “I'm headed for bed. Too tired and down in the back to think about all that cooking right now.”

Amanda set the jars on the counter, not surprised at Jemima's grumbling. Atlee's dat had died nearly twenty years ago—before Amanda had married into the Lambright family—and Jemima's widowhood, along with her bad back and feet, often weighed her down like a dark, heavy cloak.

“Jah, get your rest and we'll figure it out tomorrow.” Amanda put out the two lamps by the sink and stood in the dark kitchen for a moment, gathering herself. What would it be like when they cooked for eight kids and three adults as a matter of course? And how would it be, to move into a kitchen that had belonged to Wyman's first wife . . . the mother of children who outnumbered hers?

You can figure that out tomorrow, too. Maybe.

“A
ch, here comes the Brubaker bunch, and us not even finished with the breakfast dishes,” Lizzie said Saturday morning. “They must've started out in the dark.”

“That means I'll get a full day's haying out of Eddie and Pete,” Jerome replied. He rose from the table and grabbed his straw hat from its peg by the door. “What're your thoughts about Simon going with us, Amanda? It would be a gut thing for him to work with us fellows. He'll no doubt be underfoot if he stays here with you women.”

“Is there any danger of him getting hurt?” Amanda asked. “Those kids lost their mamm to a baling machine, remember.”

Jerome considered this as he watched the Brubaker kids out the window. “Comes a time when every boy needs to pull his weight. I was working with my dat at Simon's age, and so were Eddie and Pete,” he pointed out. “It'll be their responsibility as big brothers to keep him on task—and I'll watch out for him, too.”

“That settles it, then,” Jemima said from her sink full of dishes. “That boy will only make more work if he's here leading the twins astray.”

Cora and Dora giggled. They began stacking the dirty plates while Lizzie put the leftover sausage and hash browns in containers. “Oh, Mammi,
we
wouldn't let Simon get us in trouble,” Dora said.

“Nope, we'd tell him what's what,” Cora chimed in. “He's mostly just showing off—like most boys.”

“Jah, boys are pretty stupid sometimes,” her twin continued.

“That's enough of such talk,” Amanda said sternly. “These are your new brothers and sisters, coming to help us today. They're showing us they love us, and we should do the same.”

Jerome grabbed the handle of the picnic hamper Amanda had packed for them and opened the door. “See you for dinner. Thanks for these snacks.”

Amanda stepped out onto the porch with him, waving at the kids who had hopped down from their wagon. “Gut to see you!” she called out. “Awfully nice of you to come help us today.”

“And we menfolk have a full day ahead of us, too,” Jerome spoke up. He pointed to a big ceramic water cooler on the top step. “Pete and Eddie, if you'll fill this at the pump over there, Simon and I can hitch up the mules.”

Simon's eyes lit up. “I get to go with you guys?”

“Oh, you betcha.” Jerome set the basket down to swing the boy up so they were eye to eye. “You're too old to be hanging around with the
girls
, ain't so? We've got a lot of jobs for you, Simon, so there can't be any squirreling around, got it? No fried pies or brownies for those who don't do as I tell them.”

“Fried pies? Like, cherry ones?” the boy asked, looking toward Amanda for an answer.

Amanda shrugged, pleased to see that Jerome had taken this matter in hand. “You'll have to pull your share of the load and find out. No telling what might be in that basket for fellows who work real hard.”

As Jerome led Simon to the barn, Vera came up the porch stairs holding Alice Ann's hand. She wore a kerchief over her dark brown hair to work in, and she carried a large basket. “What a blessing that Jerome wants Simon to help with the haying,” she said in a low voice. “He's been wound tighter than a top ever since he jumped out of bed an hour earlier than we intended.”

“That comes with being five,” Amanda replied. She held out her hands, but Alice Ann clung to her big sister's leg. “And we girls will be just fine working together, won't we, sweet pea? Cora and Dora have been waiting for you to get here today.”

Alice Ann nodded shyly and looked toward the open kitchen door.

Vera set down her basket and let her little sister toddle inside. “I brought along some fresh bread and a bowl of snack mix the kids like, and another box, too. I'll be right back.”

Whatever might Vera be so excited about? Amanda watched the teenager jog gracefully to the Brubaker wagon, and lift a box from the back end. Lizzie stepped outside then, wiping her hands on a dish towel. As though Eddie and Pete had been awaiting her appearance, they waved from the pump, but Lizzie just rolled her eyes. When she saw Vera hefting the cardboard box, however, she loped out to help her carry it.

“Oooh! What've you got in here, Vera?” she asked. “This looks like Mamm's pottery.”

“I hope she'll like what I've done with her bits and pieces,” Vera said. “They were just too pretty to toss out.”

When the girls set the box on the seat of the swing, Amanda peered inside. Vera carefully lifted something wrapped in an old towel, and when she revealed it Amanda's eyes widened. Dangling from the bottom of a broken pitcher were strings of various lengths that held other pieces of pottery in reds, blues, and greens. “Wind chimes! What a clever idea.”

“Listen to the tinkling sound they make!” Lizzie held the handle so the breeze caught the shards of pottery.

Vera's cheeks turned pink. “I smoothed the rough edges and reinforced the pieces with a coat of shellac. Then I used some of Pete's fishing line to string them,” she explained. “They won't withstand a heavy wind, but if they get hung someplace a little more sheltered—or inside, over a furnace vent—they should be all right.”

As Amanda fingered a pitcher's spout, a handle, and some fluted pieces that had once been on a pie plate, something inside her swelled. What a blessing, that this young woman had salvaged the broken pieces of her work—like shattered dreams—and fashioned them into something new. “I would never have thought to do this, Vera. Denki so much for showing me.”

“I made some necklaces and bracelets, too,” Vera said as she lifted other pieces from her box. “Plain gals won't wear them, of course, but maybe the English folks who shop at the Cedar Creek Mercantile will buy them.”

“Wow, these are so
cool
!” Lizzie lifted two more necklaces from the box, gazing raptly at them as they shimmered in the sunlight.

“I'm thinking Abby would display these for you, too,” Amanda said as she admired the necklace Vera had slipped over her head. The pieces alternated in color and size, with flat shards separated by tubular chunks that had come from handles or spouts. “You have a fine eye for arranging the shapes and colors, Vera. And you've spent a lot of time smoothing them off and drilling those holes to run the line through, too. That was delicate work.”

Vera shrugged modestly. “I didn't think about it much. Your bright colors just inspired my hands to put the pieces together,” she said. “After I made the first necklace, the others went fast. Do you really think Sam would carry them in his store?”

“I would certainly take them in,” Amanda insisted. “Treva might sell your wind chimes in her greenhouse, too. She carries a lot of gift items to go along with her pumpkins and plants.”

“I decorated this pot, too, hoping Treva might want more.” From the bottom of her box, Vera lifted a ten-inch terra cotta flowerpot. She had glued pottery pieces all over the outside of it, similar to a mosaic design but more dimensional.

“Wouldn't that look nice with a mum in it? Or a geranium, in the summer,” Jemima said as she came out to see what was going on. “It's even prettier because you used cast-off pieces to make something new and useful . . . just like the Lord takes us all as broken vessels and fits us for His service here on Earth.”

Amanda blinked. Seldom did her mother-in-law make such touching remarks, and Jemima's attitude boded well for what they might accomplish today. “Amen to that,” she murmured. “What a gift you've given us, letting us see your pieces, Vera. The fellows are leaving for the hayfields, so let's start dinner and decide what we'll work on today.”

As the Brubaker girls joined them in the kitchen, Cora and Dora took Alice Ann into the front room to play. Even though Vera was four years older than Lizzie, the two teenagers were chatting excitedly about the wind chimes and necklaces as they went to the cellar for jars of chowchow and tomatoes. After they had peeled potatoes, carrots, and onions to put in the roasting pan with two large meat loaves, Jemima took the three little girls to help her pick the last of the vegetables in the garden.

Amanda was glad she had told her mother-in-law she wanted to pack her ceramics today, because Vera's eyes widened when they entered the room where she worked on them. “Back in the day, this was the dawdi haus for Atlee's grandparents,” Amanda explained. Wyman's daughter was gazing raptly at the kick wheel, situated near the two windows, and the cylindrical gas kiln in the far corner. “This was the sitting room, and there's a bathroom—where I can run water for preparing my clay and cleaning up. Since we had plenty of bedrooms if more kids came along, Atlee let me set up in here rather than in the basement where the light's not so gut.”

“And when Dat got really sick at the end,” Lizzie added, “he stayed in this bedroom, so Mamm could keep an eye on him while she worked. That was before Cora and Dora were born.”

Sad compassion clouded Vera's face, but as she ran her fingers around the unglazed pie plates and bowl sets on the shelves, she brightened again. “It's so neat that you start with clay and shape each piece on your wheel,” she murmured. “It means that no two pieces are exactly alike.”

Amanda brought a stack of old newspapers to the worktable and they began to wrap the dishes. “It's as you said when you made those wind chimes and necklaces,” she replied. “If I don't think too much about what I'm doing, my hands just
take over
. I make so many of each item—and I glaze them with my favorite colors and designs—that I don't have to concentrate very hard. I've not thought about it, but jah, I suppose each piece is unique.”

Just as God has created each of us with different abilities . . . and different needs
, Amanda thought as she watched her helpers. Vera was taller than her Lizzie, with darker hair and a quieter way about her, yet the two girls had taken to each other as if they had been close friends all their lives.

Vera carefully tucked the ends of newspaper around a teapot. “Do you suppose someday you could teach me to make pottery, Amanda? I do okay at cooking and sewing, but I've never taken to quilting like other girls . . .”

“I'm with you there,” Lizzie remarked. “Mammi Jemima's tried to work with me, but my stitches are too big and uneven to suit her. I'd rather bake or crochet.”

Amanda's pulse quickened. As Vera declared her love of creating, she evoked Amanda's own deep need to continue crafting her colorful dishes even if the Clearwater elders declared them
art
, and therefore unacceptable as a Plain pursuit. She felt a fierce desire to share her skills with this young woman, sensing that Vera was a kindred spirit in ways her Lizzie would never be.

But this could lead us both down the path to perdition.
 . . .

Yet Amanda didn't have the heart to squelch Vera's curiosity, or the important bond they might share as they became part of a new, blended family.

“So you'd rather work with clay than fabric? I started out by helping my mamm's Uncle Mahlon in his pottery shop when I was a wee girl, for that very reason.” Amanda thought about the rest of her answer as she wrapped her paintbrushes and added them to the box they were packing. “I'll warn you, though, that in a lot of districts this would be considered too worldly. My great-uncle made dishes, using muted blues and browns—but only when he got too old and lame to farm did their bishop allow him to earn his living that way.”

Vera reached for another sturdy cardboard box and began to wrap plastic bottles of colored glazes. “Our bishop, Uriah Schmucker, is really old-fashioned. He
still
doesn't like it that Dat partnered with a Mennonite before he joined the church, and that the elevator is on the Fishers' land,” she remarked. “He says having electricity and their computer makes the business too English, even though it gives our Plain farmers a place to sell their corn.”

Amanda listened as she packed. Wyman had once told her that to compensate for his worldlier way of doing business, he often made extra donations to his district's relief fund—just because he felt it was the right thing to do.

“I probably should've asked the bishop about making those necklaces.” Vera sighed ruefully as she met Amanda's gaze. “But I got so excited about using your broken pieces that I didn't think about it.”

Amanda had met Clearwater's bishop when Wyman had announced his intention to marry her. She, too, sensed that Uriah would frown on her bright colors even if the pieces she made were useful. “I've been praying on that very subject,” she said. “Lamar Lapp, our bishop in Bloomingdale, allowed me to sell my pottery when Atlee got too sick to work, and he understood that colorful pieces sold better. I'll be awfully busy getting adjusted to our new family anyway, so it might be a while before I can work at my wheel again.”

“Oh, but I hope you won't give it up.” Vera cleared her throat, as though considering whether to mention something. “My mamm enjoyed drawing and painting, you see. Made the prettiest note cards . . . but when one of the preachers heard Eddie saying she'd painted some canvases of wildlife and flowers, the bishop came for a visit.”

Amanda's heart sagged. She could guess what had happened next.

“He made Mamm throw away her paints. And he got after Dat for allowing her to have such a sinful pastime,” Vera went on. “Mamm obeyed, of course, and she never spoke of her painting again. But it was like a piece of her heart went missing after that.”

Amanda sighed. “Denki for telling me that, Vera. We'll keep this matter in our prayers as well, all right?”

Had Uriah's attitude toward Wyman's first wife's painting prompted him to insist she wouldn't need the money from her pottery? It wasn't a subject Amanda wanted to get into with Vera, because it was such a pleasure to discover the girl's interest in colors and clay. But maybe, since Wyman seemed drawn to artistic women, he would understand her need to create . . . an inner longing to interpret her life using the vibrant palette with which God had made the world. Even if she didn't sell her pottery, it satisfied her soul to make it.
Maybe I can tuck my wheel and kiln into a corner of the basement at the Brubaker place. . . .