by Naomi King
“And I, for one, would enjoy listening to the interview!” Abby’s eyes shone over the top of her teacup. “James is a fine man to speak to our beliefs and practices. If he sat in the doorway and spoke out toward us, anybody who wanted to gather around the phone shanty could follow along.”
“That would be a first for Cedar Creek,” James replied. Abby’s idea impressed and inspired him: limiting himself to a single interview solved a lot of problems that might arise from appearing in a magazine.
“We’ve settled it, then.” Vernon polished off his banana bread and drank deeply of his tea. “Wherever two or more are gathered, we draw upon the Lord’s power to accomplish His will here on earth. And that’s always better than going it alone, thinking we humans can set the proper limits and avoid worldly temptations.”
After the three of them chatted briefly about Preacher Paul’s funeral service, James stepped outside with Abby, into the twilight. A pink glow hovered at the horizon where the sun had just set, and while the temperature had dropped, the evening was still pleasant. As Mitch trotted down the bishop’s lane, they waved to Vernon, who watched them from the doorway of his rustic stone home. Once they were clip-clopping along the blacktop, James gazed at the woman beside him.
“Don’t let this go to your head,” he said lightly, “but you were absolutely right about taking this matter to the bishop. It all worked out so much better than if I’d tried to manage these orders and interviews by myself.”
“You would have figured it out, James,” Abby replied. “But other folks from Cedar Creek will want to share your success and listen to the interview. If there’s anything else you need help with, you know whom to ask.”
Abby’s laughter rang around them. Her eyes told him she was hoping for the kiss he’d promised her last night. He was ready to hug her close and—
For a fleeting moment, it was Zanna flirting with him, teasing him with her carefree mirth and her flawless face until he couldn’t help but love her. His stomach clenched as he recalled how that love had ended.
James faltered. His imagination had played a cruel trick on him just now, and he could not tell Abby her sister’s image had come between them. The two Lambright girls barely resembled each other—Abby had Sam’s darker hair and brows while Zanna was a blonde like Phoebe, Gail, and Ruthie—yet they shared mannerisms. A certain arch of their brows…a pattern to their laughter. Just enough to pinch him with the memory of his intended bride’s betrayal, even though he thought he’d gotten past it.
So James let the romantic moment pass. He focused on the road again, recalling how he and Abby had sped along this straightaway in the Mardi Gras carriage last night, laughing and having fun together. He could feel Abby’s bewilderment as surely as the evening seemed chillier now as the sun went down. He had just disappointed both of them.
“It’s gut you have the patience of a saint, Abby,” he murmured. “You might need it while I work my way through these next several weeks, figuring out my schedule.”
Abby’s face fell. She tugged her shawl around her shoulders, looking away. “Jah. I just might.”
Chapter 13
Later that evening, Abby brushed out her hair and then sat on her bed with her writing tablet. It was time to send in her weekly letter for the Budget, the national newspaper for Plain folks. But how could she write, considering her excruciating disappointment? She had seen a kiss written all over James’s face, but he’d stopped short. All through school she’d loved him…had discouraged other fellows’ attention, knowing they would never measure up. For years she’d waited for him to return her affection, and after the fine time they’d shared the previous evening in his Mardi Gras carriage, she’d believed her chance had come at last.
How much longer could she be as patient as James claimed she was? It wasn’t as if she or James had never kissed anyone. Why had he changed his mind? Was he wary of taking up with her after her sister had betrayed him, even though he’d claimed he was ready to move on? Or had she seemed too eager to tell James how he should live his life and set his business priorities?
Abby wiped away her tears. She reminded herself that she was secure in her little home, with her Stitch in Time business to support herself…But still her heart ached. It was sure to be a long, dark night of soul-searching, and she needed her rest for a full day of making a comforter and curtains for a customer tomorrow. Stewing over her crushed feelings wouldn’t get her column written, either. Abby picked up her pencil and began with the community’s most obvious news.
It was a sad day for Cedar Creek. Paul Bontrager, not quite ninety and our preacher for more than half his life, went to his reward this morning. For many of us, he was a leader we respected and looked to for guidance our entire lives. We ask your prayers for his family, and—
Someone pounded on her front door. Abby set aside her tablet and slipped into the robe that hung on the back of her bedroom door. Surely James wouldn’t be knocking this late, coming to make amends. And if he was, well, her hair was down and no proper unmarried Amish woman kept company with a fellow in her nightgown. But when Abby peered out the window beside her door, she saw a familiar figure in a white kapp and a gray shawl. “Emma! What brings you over at this hour?” she asked as she swung open the door.
Her best friend stepped inside, pressing a small covered container into Abby’s hands. “Finally got the folks off to bed, and when James came in, scowling and refusing to say what had happened with you this evening, I was just too peeved to stay home,” she replied. “Between my brother and Matt—the way they’ve both acted today—I’m ready to give up on men altogether! Aren’t you?”
Abby lifted the container’s lid. While she and Emma had shared secrets since they were girls, she wasn’t ready to elaborate on what had—or had not—gone on between her and James. “Lemon bars? When did you have time to bake these?”
“I made an extra batch when I was getting ready for today’s common meal. And after Matt told me not to bother making him any more brownies, why—” Emma’s breath came out in a huff. “Lemon bars are a treat I can share with you, Abby. I know you’ll be my friend, no matter what.”
“Come sit down. Treats like these deserve a gut cup of tea while you tell me what’s happened.” Abby led the way into the kitchen and lit the lamp on the wall. She put on the teakettle, noting how Emma’s eyes were as puffy as her own and how she seemed too agitated to sit at the small table by the back window. They made quite a pair. Misery loved company.
“Matt told me he didn’t want to be cruel,” Emma said with an edge in her voice. “Didn’t come out and admit it, but he’s head over heels for that widow, Rosemary. Isn’t he?”
Abby reached for the tea bags, hoping to console her friend. But there was no way around it: the truth wasn’t going to make Emma feel any better. “It was one of those unexplainable things,” she murmured. “Matt laid eyes on Rosemary and he’s thought of little else since then. I’m sorry it happened this way, Emma. I don’t know what else to tell you.” She carried two steaming cups of water to the table and then dropped in the tea bags.
“But, Abby, what’ll I do now? He…well, Matt’s the only fella I’ve ever been seriously interested in.”
As Emma slumped in a chair, Abby squeezed her shaking shoulders. What with getting her parents ready for church and spending the day at the Yutzy home, Emma may not have had a chance earlier to deal with her hurt feelings. “Maybe it’s best to have a gut cry about it and then leave it be, Emma,” Abby suggested. “Time to get Matt off your mind and move on to somebody else.”
Easy for you to say. Could you take your own advice if James told you he didn’t want to see you anymore? Abby sat down next to Emma and dunked her tea bag again and again, not wanting to think about that.
The tear streaks on Emma’s face, shining in the lamplight, accentuated her dejection. “It’s not like fellas’ll line up to court me, knowing how snappish Mamm gets and how Dat is losing track of his thoughts from one minut
e to the next. And I—I really don’t want to end up alone, Abby. I’ve always wanted a family…a husband to love.”
Ah, but Abby knew the heartache of a maidel’s singular life—except she’d been blessed with several options. Her Stitch in Time business and this cozy home had put her in a better position for a fulfilling future. Abby picked up a lemon bar. “Oh my,” she whispered as the tart-sweet filling spread over her tongue. “It’s been a long while since I had one of these, and yours are the best, Emma.”
“And what gut does that do me? Who else besides you and the folks will ever know how they taste?” Emma pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “They’re James’s favorite, too—and what’s his problem now? He was whistling last night after your ride, yet he came home this evening looking like a whipped dog.”
Abby crammed the rest of the lemon bar into her mouth and took a long sip of her tea. Emma’s problem was far more serious than her own, yet there was no getting around the question. “He’s gotten a lot of calls this weekend from folks wanting more of those specialty rigs than he can make—”
“Puh! The look on his face was not about carriages, Abby.” Emma gazed at her in the dimness, expecting an answer.
“All right, then. He was ready to kiss me last night—told me so, even—but the girls were watching out their bedroom window, so…” Abby sighed. “Just when it seemed he was going to carry through on our way home from Vernon’s this evening, he changed his mind. I have no idea why.”
“Well, if that isn’t the most ridiculous— You know, if it weren’t such a waste of my time and ingredients, I’d put a pie in his face. And I’d smash one all over Matt’s, too!” Emma grabbed a lemon bar and consumed half of it in one bite. “Why are fellas so dense, Abby? How could James possibly do better than hitching up with you? I tried to tell him that when he started seeing Zanna, but did he listen?”
Emma’s bewilderment had turned to righteous indignation, and suddenly Abby felt better. Having a close friend share her frustration—realizing that Emma had a much harder row to hoe—put her disappointment into better perspective. After all, if James was acting as though he’d let her down, a chance remained that he’d make that missed kiss up to her, while for Emma, finding another beau seemed less likely.
“Denki, Emma,” she murmured. “What would I do without a gut friend like you?”
Emma inhaled the aroma of her tea and then finished it. “I knew I could come here any hour of the day or night and you’d hear me out, Abby. This tea hits the spot, too. Chamomile, is it?”
“Jah, real nice before bedtime to settle you down.” Abby drained her cup. “Just out of curiosity, what kind of pie would you pitch into James’s face? Picturing that makes me giggle.”
“Oh, gooseberry! He screws up his mouth and refuses to eat it. Says it’s too puckery.” The lines around Emma’s eyes relaxed. “And for Matt…wouldn’t blackberry make the biggest mess? Can’t you see that dark goop running down his face, his eyes all wide and white in the middle of it? Neither of them would believe I could do that, but it’s fun to think about, ain’t so?”
“Jah, it is.” Abby slung her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Another cup of tea?”
“I’d best get back. Lots of laundry to do tomorrow, and Dat gets up earlier and earlier these spring days,” Emma remarked. “He catnaps a lot during the day, so he doesn’t rest real solid at night. Or maybe that’s on account of Mamm’s snoring.”
They rose from the table and Abby walked her friend to the door. “Sure glad you brought those lemon bars, Emma. And I—I hope you get to feeling better about the situation with Matt. Hard as it is to accept, he’s a gut young man. Not one to be mean or hateful.”
Emma shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to rethink my future. I’m not happy about that, but you’ve been a real help, Abby. See you soon.”
“Jah, take care, Emma.” Abby held the door open, watching as the moonlight made her friend’s kapp glow. “Keep a pie handy. And you’ll come get me if you put it in one of their faces, ain’t so?”
Emma’s laughter trailed behind her as she headed up Lambright Lane. And didn’t that put a better ending on the evening for both of them? After Abby washed their cups and saucers, she returned to her bedroom and picked up her tablet. It amazed her, how ideas came from the most ordinary situations. She finished the paragraph about Paul Bontrager’s passing and then pressed her pencil eraser against her cheek, thinking, before she completed her column.
Some of us have dealt with disappointment this past week, and it seems to me that instead of making lemonade from such lemons, maybe a pan of lemon bars—or a lemon meringue pie!—would be a better way of chasing off our negative moods. We have to take the sour with the sweet, and when you bake up a pie or a batch of bars, you spread happiness along with your treats. I wish you someone wonderful to share them with this week.
—Abigail Lambright
Abby glanced across the road, to where James’s lamp still burned in his upstairs window. She prayed that Emma would find peace and that James would figure out how to handle all the business success that had come his way. And as for whether he would ask her out again? Well, God would have His own ideas about that, and she would wait for whatever the new week might bring.
Chapter 14
Titus sat down at the table for breakfast on Monday morning wearing an expression that told Rosemary he had something on his mind. Something he was downright tickled about. It was a rare day when Joe’s dat cracked a smile before he’d had his coffee and a full meal, so while Beth Ann set out the maple syrup and honey, Rosemary stood at the stove turning their French toast in the cast-iron skillet, hoping it wasn’t another life-changing announcement. She’d endured enough of those these past few days.
“Thought I’d wait until you didn’t have any dishes in your hand to say this, Rosemary,” he began with a chuckle.
She looked over at him, expecting a reprimand for dropping that stack of plates the other day, even though the Melmac hadn’t broken. But he looked like a boy who was trying to keep a secret yet itched to tell someone about it. “I’m listening.”
Titus chucked Katie under the chin as she sat in her high chair. “Got word from Matt Lambright that Preacher Paul Bontrager, over in Cedar Creek, passed away during the night on Saturday.”
Rosemary swallowed, sensing another shoe was about to drop. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmured. “I know he was one of your friends from a long time ago.”
“Was he the really old fellow who gave the first sermon at the wedding?” Beth Ann asked.
“Say there! Watch your tongue, when somebody’s got a lot of miles on him!” Titus laughed, apparently unconcerned about his own mileage—which was a huge improvement over the mood he’d been in for most of the winter. “Jah, that was Paul, who also owns the farm across the road from the Lambrights. His pasture adjoins the Graber place,” he continued. “And when I go to Paul’s funeral on Thursday, I’ll be asking his son, Perry, if he’d be interested in selling that property—or at least a gut chunk of it. Perry works at Graber’s Custom Carriages, you see. He doesn’t work the land himself. Has Carl Byler raising the crops there.”
Rosemary’s heart stopped. Oh, but she knew where this conversation was going. She stabbed the first pieces of French toast with her fork to keep from making a remark she might regret.
“So why would you buy land clear over in Cedar Creek, Dat?” Beth Ann looked perplexed. Like her father, she’d enjoyed visiting for the wedding, but she hadn’t realized how much Titus had liked it there.
Rosemary dipped another slice of bread into the egg and milk mixture, allowing it to absorb the liquid. It was best to let father and daughter have this conversation while she got her runaway pulse under control. It was easy to imagine how tickled Matt must be about this situation.
“After talking to Matt about our flocks, and after visiting with your uncle Ezra and other fellows from Cedar Creek—friends I’ve known since I was your age,
” Titus added emphatically, “I’m figuring out a way to move us back there, where we’ll be close to family. With your older brothers and sisters married off and scattered all over, it seems like a gut thing to do.”
As this news sank in, Beth Ann’s face fell and she looked ready to cry. “But what about this farm? And this house? And where will I go to school? And—” She stopped abruptly when her dat’s expression warned her that she was crossing a line.
Rosemary’s heart thudded. She hadn’t considered Beth Ann’s position in all of this talk of a potential move: leaving her school, not to mention her homeplace, would mean a total upheaval for the twelve-year-old girl.
“I’ve got some ideas about this place, and there’s no need for you to go worrying about it.” Titus gazed steadily at his youngest child, not angry but not apologetic, either. “It’s my job to see that we’ve got a roof over our heads and food on the table. We can do that just as well in Cedar Creek as we can here. Maybe better, if Matt and I share the work and expenses for our flocks.”
Beth Ann shot Rosemary a worried look and then busied herself with setting silverware at their places. No matter how she felt about so much potential change, she knew better than to protest. Plain girls learned early on that while their fathers loved them, they wouldn’t consult their wives or daughters about decisions or pander to their wishes.
Rosemary lifted three more pieces of crispy, fragrant French toast from the skillet and carried the platter to the table. She took the plate of bacon from the warming oven and, after they were all seated, they bowed their heads for a moment of silent thanks.
As they ate, Titus talked about the lay of the Bontrager land and how much easier it would be for him to manage his flock with Matt as a partner. He had obviously spent a lot of time considering all the benefits of a move. Beth Ann ate about half of her French toast and then began to drag a piece of it through the syrup left on her plate.