Amanda Weds a Good Man (8 page)

A
s the men hefted the final piece of her furniture off the wagon, Amanda watched with mixed feelings. In a few minutes they would eat Vera's hamburger soup, along with the sandwiches Jemima had packed in the cooler and the apple bars Abby pulled out of her seemingly bottomless picnic basket. Then James and the Lambrights would return to Cedar Creek. And Jerome would go home.

Home.
For a few confused moments, Amanda wondered where her home was.

Wasn't she supposed to feel buoyant and blessed because she and her girls were now part of a whole new family? Wasn't it wonderful that Wyman had vowed to take care of them? What a relief, that she and Jemima wouldn't spend another winter watching their home-canned food supply dwindle, wondering if Jerome was eating less than he should to help them get by.

As she watched the men enter a shed with Jemima's pie safe, however, Amanda's spirits sank even lower. Eddie and Pete had hefted her heavy gas kiln and then dropped it a while ago, which meant it might not fire hot enough—or be safe to use—anymore. Would she ever find a place for the rocking chairs, sewing machine, and other family pieces now stashed on the screened porch? She had brought only the furnishings and dishes that truly meant something to her, leaving most of the household items behind for Jerome. Wyman had assured her they would make room for her belongings, just as his kids had shifted around in the bedrooms so her girls' beds and clothing had their places.

Still, this ranked as a very difficult moment in her life . . . almost as low as coming home from the cemetery after Atlee's funeral. Why was that?

“Mamma! Whatcha doin'?”

“Supper's ready, Mamma!”

As her twins rushed out the front door, Amanda blinked and put on a smile. To Cora and Dora, this move was a big adventure. They were excited about sharing a room with Alice Ann, and more eager to spend time with Simon than they would admit. Amanda stooped to hug them close. “You girls have been such gut help today,” she murmured. “Soon as supper's cleared away we'll make up your beds in your new room, all right?”

“Jah, it'll be fun having a little sister,” Cora said.

“Maybe we can teach Alice Ann how to talk!” Dora chimed in.

We could use a miracle like that about now
, Amanda mused as she grasped their tiny hands. Then she sighed tiredly.
I need to quit feeling sorry for myself.

Supper proceeded quickly, for their helpers had to drive home and tend to their animals. Even with sixteen of them around the long table, the meal was quiet for it had been a long day of lifting and riding and deciding where to put everything. Jemima's face was drawn with fatigue and no doubt her ankles were bothering her. Pete and Eddie spoke in low voices with James and Jerome. Sam, Matt, and Wyman discussed the rising price of livestock feed as they chose brownies, pumpkin cake, and apple bars from the dessert platter.

From across the table, Abby smiled at her. “All this will feel better after a gut night's sleep, Amanda. You'll soon be settled into your new place, feeling like you've lived here forever.”

Oh, how Amanda wished she could believe that. She came out of her dismal thoughts, however, when Abby stood to scrape plates. “You've done so much for us, Abby,” she protested. “We'll clean up these dishes and let you folks start home.”

Even as she said that, Amanda felt torn. Why did she wish Abby, with her sunny disposition, could stay into the evening—and longer—to help her with this transition into Wyman's family? How could she doubt that everything would work out the way her new husband had promised?

Soon the Lambrights and James were walking to their empty wagons. With her heart in her throat, Amanda followed them across the yard. “Denki so much for all you've done,” she said as the men hitched up their draft horses.

Abby hugged her. “Many hands make light work. If there's anything at all you need, you'd better well let me know!”

As the three wagons pulled out onto the road, Jerome slung his arm around Amanda's shoulders. “Feels funny going back without you, Aunt Amanda,” he murmured.

“Jah, tell me about it.” She gazed up into his angular face. “If it gets too quiet there, you can always come visit us. Never a dull moment here amongst us Brubakers.” Her new name sounded strange, after so many years of being a Lambright.

“I'll get tired of my own cooking pretty quick.” Jerome's smile looked tight. “But you and Jemima left me lots of food in the freezer and notes about washing clothes and warming leftovers, so I'll be fine. Gut practice for me.”

The nervous edge to Jerome's voice brought to mind the early days of when he'd come to live with her and Atlee, at ten, after his parents had died in a fire. How far he'd come since then! Amanda hugged him fiercely and then let go. The longer she held him, the harder this parting would be.

“Call if you need me,” he said. “You're letting me live on the farm, but it's still yours. Don't be a stranger.”

She watched him mount his horse, then waved until he was well down the road. When Amanda turned, she saw Wyman standing on the front porch watching her. What must he be thinking, if she acted so reluctant to let go of her nephew and her friends? Amanda composed herself and started for the house.

Through the screen door she heard Lizzie's and Vera's voices over the sound of dishes being washed. Out in the yard, Simon was throwing a tennis ball for Wags and his three younger sisters clapped gleefully when the dog caught it. Eddie and Pete were headed for the barn to do the evening chores, tussling with each other. Everyone else seemed to be fitting in just fine. . . .

Wyman opened his arms. Amanda rushed up the porch stairs and into his embrace—and then, to her horror, she burst into tears.

“Ohhhh, what's wrong, my love?”

Why did she suddenly want to fling a long list of fears and misgivings at him, the man who had provided her with a more secure, prosperous future? It would
not
be a good idea to reveal how lost and frustrated she felt right now. “I'm just tuckered out,” she murmured.

“Jah, you've moved heaven and earth, as you know it, to be here with me,” Wyman whispered. He kissed her cheek. “What with no church service tomorrow, we can get you settled in. Everything will look better after a night's rest.”

There it was, an echo of Abby's earlier words.

Why was it so difficult to believe the words of those she trusted most?

•   •   •

W
yman woke up with a gasp. After lying awake, listening to Amanda muffle tears with her pillow, he'd finally drifted off. So why was there a child climbing into bed with them?

“Mammaaaaa,” a little girl wailed as she clambered across him. And from Amanda's side came an echo as another body made the mattress sink and shift.

“What's wrong?” he muttered.

“Cora? Dora?” Amanda murmured as she gathered them in her arms. “You should be in your new room—”

“Waahhhhh.”
Beside Wyman, Alice Ann was smacking the mattress, trying to find him in the darkness. With a sigh, he hooked an arm around her and hoisted her up. “Jah? What's the matter?” he whispered, desperately wishing she would talk to him instead of making him guess.

“We—
hic
—we was sleepin', Mamma—”

“And there was this scary noise.”

“Jah. Like a wolf clawin' at our wall.”

Wyman wanted to point out that their bedroom was on the second floor, well beyond where any wild animals could get them, but girls this age believed what their imaginations told them. Alice Ann had picked up on the twins' fear and followed them, and she was now snuggling against him as though her young life depended on it.

“Shh,” Amanda murmured. “Let's not wake everyone up. You're fine, babies . . . probably just a bad dream.”

“But I
heard
it—”

“Shh!” Amanda whispered more insistently. She had a daughter in each arm, lying against her sides. “If you can't be quiet, you'll have to go back to your room. All by yourselves.”

The twins' fearful talk stopped immediately and Wyman smiled in the darkness. Soon Alice Ann's breathing deepened, while Cora and Dora settled against their mother. It had been years since any of his kids had come to bed with him . . . Alice Ann had previously slept in Vera's room, while Simon was always deep asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Awakening in a strange house had probably spooked Amanda's girls and their minds were still wound up from such a major transition.

But this bed wasn't intended for five of us. We can't allow this nighttime drama to continue if Amanda and I are to get any sleep or . . .

When Wyman woke again, Amanda was tucking the quilt around the twins . . . slipping out of the room to dress and start her day before the sun rose. He thought back to the night they'd spent in Abby's house after the wedding. Would that blissful night be the last private time he would have with his new wife?

He savored the warmth of the blankets until the clock on the dresser chimed five and played a delicate tune, as it had since he'd given it to Viola as a wedding gift. Carefully easing Alice Ann's limp, warm body over to the center of the mattress with her new sisters, Wyman got up and slipped into his clothes. As he made his way down the shadowy hall, boots in hand, he heard the older boys stirring in their room and saw a girl—Lizzie, for she was too short to be his Vera—slipping into the bathroom. So far, the morning routine wasn't all that different. More people to account for, but the same chores: the guys would head outside to the barn while the girls cooked breakfast.

The rich aroma of coffee made him close his eyes in gratitude, because Vera didn't always have a chance to make it for him. Wyman looked forward to entering the kitchen and slipping his arms around Amanda for a hug and a long kiss before anyone could interrupt them—

But his wife was kneeling in front of Jemima, tugging her mother-in-law's black stockings to her knees. Then Amanda tied her sturdy, thick-soled shoes.

“Ah. Gut morning, you two,” he said. “Did you sleep well in your new room, Jemima?”

Her frown could have curdled milk. “I heard the grandfather clock downstairs strike on every hour and chime each quarter hour in between.” She sighed as though she was a hundred years old. “Takes a body a while to get used to new noises, I suppose. Gut thing there's no preaching service today.”

“Amen to that,” Wyman murmured.

He stood by the stove, waiting for the percolator light to signal that the coffee was ready. It occurred to him that his earlier thoughts about Jemima had been all wrong. If Amanda's mother-in-law needed assistance with dressing, she wouldn't be returning to the farm to stay with Jerome.

He glanced at his wife, who was opening drawers, searching for something. “Any idea what spooked the girls last night?” he asked. “We should nip that in the bud before coming into our bed becomes a habit.”

Amanda's stricken expression made him wish he hadn't spoken so bluntly. In the light of the oil lamps, the dark shadows beneath her eyes told him that he and the girls had slept a lot more than she had.

“Jah, Wyman, you're right. But I didn't know how else to handle it. When the twins were born, a few months after Atlee passed, it was all I could do not to sleep in their room,” she murmured forlornly. “But after they were weaned I closed their door. They did fine because they shared a crib. They had each other.”

And you slept alone . . . as sad and lonely as I was
, his thoughts taunted.

“I'm sorry,” Amanda went on, still hunting for something in the drawers. “I'll talk to them about it.”

The fragile edge to her apology stung worse than a paper cut. Wyman felt the weight of Jemima's glare as he poured his coffee. “Guess I'd best get on out to the barn. I'll be back in a bit.”

“Where
are
the knives?” Amanda blurted, slamming a drawer.

Her desperate tone gave him pause. “What kind of knife do you need?” he asked carefully.

“Serrated! To slice bread for toast.”

Wyman gestured toward the wooden knife holder in the corner, beside the bread bin. It seemed like a good idea to leave his coffee behind and put on his coat. The horses and cows could probably suggest better ways to deal with the new females in his life than he could devise himself, if these past few minutes were any indication of how their first day as a blended family would go.

A
bby sat at her little table, gazing out the back window of her house as she sipped a cup of tea and enjoyed a fresh sticky bun. These Sundays when they didn't have church gave her a welcome rest after a six-day week of helping Sam run the Cedar Creek Mercantile. Even with Amanda and Wyman's wedding preparations, she had kept up with her Stitch in Time orders and delivered the draperies for a newly remodeled bed and breakfast in Kirksville.

From a large remnant of olive green crepe she'd used for the B and B's valances, she had sewn a dress for Emma, as well. Jerome Lambright might come calling at the Graber place any day, and her best friend had no time to sew. Not that Emma gave much thought to dressing for a date.

Abby tapped her cheek with her pencil, ready to draft her next column for
The Budget
. As the local scribe for the international Plain newspaper, she sent in the week's news along with insights she hoped readers would find uplifting.

The leaves are taking on their prettiest colors, but nothing compares to the blush on a bride's cheeks. We Lambrights hosted our third wedding, this one for Sam's cousin Amanda, who married Wyman Brubaker of the Clearwater district. Their eight children now have new brothers and sisters, as well, and we wish them all the best as they form their big, happy family. Your congratulations and gifts may be sent to—

A loud knock at her kitchen door made Abby look up as someone stepped inside. “Jah, who's there?” she called out.

“Abby! What's going on with Jerome Lambright?” Footsteps clattered on the kitchen floor as Emma rounded the corner.

When her best friend took the chair across the table, Abby fought a grin. “What do you mean? How would I know anything about—”

“You can't fool
me
, Abby! You and James worked with him all day yesterday,” Emma ranted. “Last night he left a phone message for Dat that he's coming over this morning, around ten. And he called you, too, Abby. Something about being ready to
ride
.”

Abby focused on Emma's flustered expression, hiding her delight as best she could. “So he's coming to see your
dat
, then? Maybe it's about his mules, or—”

“James says the same thing, but I don't believe it for a minute! After the way that man pestered me all during Amanda's wedding, he's got something up his sleeve.”

“Hmm. His arm, most likely.” As she offered Emma the other sticky bun she'd warmed for her breakfast, Abby considered this news. Because the answering machine in their phone shanty recorded messages for the mercantile and James's carriage business, as well as for everyone in the Lambright and Graber families, it was common for each of them to know whom the other had heard from—and then to either relay the new messages or write them down on the tablet in the shanty.

“There's more tea in my pot. Get a cup if you want some,” Abby offered as questions whirled in her head. “So what else did Jerome say in his message to me?”

“Puh!” Emma pinched off a short section of her sticky bun. “He says you and Gail might want to come along, and if Ruthie invites Beth Ann, that's fine, too.”

Abby watched Emma jam the piece of glazed pastry into her mouth as she took another bite of her own roll. Oh, but this little mystery tickled her! “So let me get this straight. Jerome's coming to see your dat, and he's offered to take the girls and me for a ride?” Emma hadn't mentioned her own name. Had she left herself out on purpose, or had she not been invited? “Something tells me Jerome doesn't want to spend Sunday by himself.”

Abby set aside her pencil and paper to formulate her plans. “Gut thing I made this batch of cinnamon rolls last night,” she thought aloud. “And if I warm the leftover fried chicken and . . . I bet Barbara's got some sliced ham in her fridge—”

“Who said anything about feeding the five thousand?” Emma demanded. “Jerome just said he was stopping by to see Dat! And your message told about taking a ride.”

So Emma
had
noticed that she wasn't on Jerome's guest list, and she was peeved about it. Abby rose from the table. “I'm guessing Jerome doesn't want to heat up the food Amanda left for him. So if he's offered to take us girls for a ride, it can't hurt to have a few things ready, ain't so? Might be our last chance for a picnic this fall.”

“This is so—exasperating!” Emma ripped off another section of her sticky bun. “James is grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and the folks are in a dither. Mamm's saying Jerome can eat dinner at
our
house, and now
you're
packing a basket—”

When Abby held up her hand, Emma went silent. “Before you go, remind me to give you something,” she said. “Matter of fact, I'll fetch it now, before I handle that chicken or wrap those gooey rolls.”

Abby went to the hall closet and took out the new dress. “I overestimated the fabric I needed for making some curtains,” she called toward the kitchen, “and I thought this shade of green would look nice with your complexion.”

Emma was already striding toward her—and then her mouth dropped open. She got a funny look on her face, as though her thoughts were racing faster than she could catch them. “Abby, when on God's gut earth have you had time to sew?” As she fingered the textured crepe, she looked ready to cry. “Here I've been carrying on about how Jerome— And you've fed me a warm roll and made me a new dress. Oh, Abby, you're being a lot better friend than I am these days.”

When Emma rushed at her, Abby opened her arms. Emma released a long sigh as they hugged.

“I've never thought that for a minute,” Abby said softly. “There's nobody else like you, Emma. It's been that way since we were wee girls.”

“For me, too, Abby. And denki for reminding me.” Emma ran her hand down the front of the dress. “I
suppose
you figured I'd have this in case I actually went out on a date someday.”

Abby shrugged nonchalantly. “It's up to you when you wear it. There's always church, or the holidays—”

“Puh! I'll not be waiting for Thanksgiving to—and I'll not let Mamm hang it in
her
closet, either.”

“That sounds more like the Emma I know.”

Her friend's dark eyes glimmered as they walked to the front door. “It's been a morning of surprises,” she said, “and not even eight o'clock yet. I guess I'll just see what else comes our way today and be happy with it.”

“Sounds like a gut plan.” Abby walked down the gravel drive with Emma as far as Sam's tall white house, to tell Gail and Ruthie about their possible outing. “Give your folks my best.”

“I'll do that. Truth be told,” Emma said, “it's gut to see them excited, looking forward to something. Dat doesn't let on, but I suspect his days feel awfully long now that Preacher Paul's gone. So many of his other longtime friends are passing on, too.”

As Emma crossed the blacktop with the dress she carried flapping beside her, Abby was pleased to see that the spring had returned to her step. Whatever Jerome was up to, he had indeed stirred the pot at the Graber place. She couldn't wait to see what other surprises he brought to Cedar Creek when he arrived in a couple of hours.

•   •   •

J
ames held the door for his dat as they went out to the front porch to watch for Jerome. The morning-glory sky was dotted with occasional cotton candy clouds, and for a moment the two of them stood at the railing, taking in this perfect October Sunday.

“Peaceful out here,” James remarked.

“Jah, it's gut to get some fresh air. Your mamm and sister are wound up pretty tight about Jerome coming by,” his father remarked. His face was alight with anticipation as he gazed down the county road. “What do you suppose he's got in mind, saying it's me he wants to see?”

“I've learned not to second-guess Jerome,” James replied with a chuckle. Then he pointed over his dat's shoulder. “But look there! Isn't
that
a sight to see!”

Around the bend from the Ropps' dairy farm came an eight-mule hitch hauling a long black wagon trimmed in red. Jerome sat in the seat with traces in each hand, encouraging the mules into a quicker gait.

“My word, I don't recall ever— Let's go to the road for a better look, son!”

Down the steps they hurried. James offered his arm as support, knowing his father had forgotten how his legs didn't always cooperate these days. It had been a long time since Dat had shown so much spunk, and despite the ruckus between Emma and Mamm over Jerome's phone message, James was grateful for this burst of energy.

“Let's cross to the Lambright side, so he can pull off the road without us being in his way,” he suggested. “It'll take him some room to maneuver a hitch that big.”

“And boy howdy, would you look at those matched-up mules and that fancy wagon? Reminds me of the draft horse competitions I watched at a big livestock exposition, long time ago.” His dat waved and waved, and then Jerome waved back from about fifty yards away.

“He's going to bring them in with a big flourish, too.” James felt his pulse speed up as he watched the tall, dark mules thunder toward them in perfect cadence, moving as a flawless, synchronized unit. “Better than a Fourth of July parade, ain't so?”

“Oh, jah!” his dat crowed. “You don't see the likes of
this
in Cedar Creek every day!”

The pounding on the pavement brought Gail and Ruthie rushing down Lambright Lane with Abby and their family close behind. Matt, Rosemary, and Beth Ann stepped out to their porch to see what was coming up the road, as well. The first pair of mules was so close that their upright ears and eyes were clearly visible. The silver accessories on their collars and harnesses glistened in the sun, a shiny-bright contrast to their black coats.

“Haw!” Jerome called out as the lead pair approached the Grabers' lane.

With seamless precision, the mules turned left to enter the drive, each pair flowing effortlessly into the curve so Jerome's black-and-red wagon rolled smoothly behind them. As if guided by some unseen hand—although James knew Jerome was controlling each mule with the eight sets of reins woven between his fingers—the animals made an impressive serpentine curve around the parking lot of Graber's Custom Carriages before heading toward the front of the house.

“Whoa, now!”

After the hitch came to a faultless halt, Jerome jogged up one side of the team and then down the other, to pat each mule's shoulder and praise it. Then he came around from behind the wagon. “What do you think, Merle? I've spent the past several weeks training this team for competition at the National Western in Denver, come January, and then at the Calgary Stampede next summer. This owner really wants to strut his stuff.”

“And strut they do!” James's dat hurried toward Jerome like an eager child before stopping to take in the entire spectacle again. “What kind of mules are these? Don't believe I've ever seen such tall ones, and with a black coat.”

“They're a Percheron cross, so they're draft mules,” Jerome explained. “They'll compete in pulling exhibitions as well as in the showy driving events. Their owner has invested a chunk of change in these animals, and in the parade wagon and the fancy tack too.”

“Well, he certainly chose the right trainer.” James stroked the muscular shoulder of the nearest lead mule, which stood several hands taller than he was. “It's one thing to train a pair of draft animals to work together instead of each one going their own way. It's another thing altogether to form a team of eight mules that know exactly how to perform in their spots.”

“Do you switch the mules around?” Abby asked as she approached the hitch. “Or do they always have the same position?”

James slipped his hand around hers as Jerome gestured toward the mules nearest the big wagon. “These wheelers have to be the biggest and the strongest, because they start the wagon—and they have to be able to slow it down and stop its weight,” he explained. “The next two pairs, the body and the swing, have to be agile and quick to adjust to wherever the leads go. The leaders are the fastest, and usually the ones that respond best to commands during their training.”

“So we get to
ride
? In this wagon?” Ruthie piped up. As the youngest of Abby's nieces, she wasn't a little girl but she wasn't yet a teenager, either.

“Jah, it's time for these mules to handle noisy crowds and little kids that run up to them,” Jerome replied with a chuckle. “I figured to pick up anybody here wanting a fine, fun ride and then head over to the Brubaker place. Those eight kids and Simon's dog will be a better test of these mules' training than they'll get from being around just me.”

Jerome stepped up beside James's dat then, gesturing toward the wagon's seat. “I figured you for a gut judge of these critters, Merle, on account of how you've had the longest time in a driver's seat. You want to ride up there with me?”

“
Me?
Well, I'll be—” He turned toward the porch, flabbergasted. “Did you hear that, Eunice? Jerome wants me to check out his mule team!”

“It's your lucky day, for sure and for certain,” James's mother replied as she gawked at the spectacle parked right in front of her.

“You can ride along, Eunice,” Jerome added. “I've got a real sturdy bench there behind the seat, fastened on so it won't shimmy and shift. Got hay in the wagon for the kids—”

“A hayride!” Ruthie crowed. “I'll fetch Beth Ann.”

“Jah, you betcha! Sundays are made for visiting, and that's exactly what we're going to do,” Jerome replied. “James and Abby, you can join us if you want, and—”

Jerome focused on Emma then, who stood beside her mamm on the porch. “Emma, I'd be pleased if you'd ride along, too. But I'll understand if you'd rather not.”