Emma Blooms At Last

by Naomi King

  “It’s going to be quite a frolic,” Jerome remarked as he steadied Jemima on the stairs. “I hope Merle can handle all the clucking you hens will be doing.”

  Jemima stopped to focus on him. Her face lit up within the curved brim of her black winter bonnet. “Merle will be glad it’s our clucking rather than Eunice’s pecking, ain’t so?” she teased. “And we’re bringing most of his dinner, so our visit won’t be a total hardship for him.”

  Jerome had to chortle at that. But it was the young woman holding the door who made him stand taller and put on his best smile. “Gut morning, Emma! The frosty air’s putting roses in your cheeks. How are you?”

  “I’m gut. And Mamm’s the cheeriest I’ve seen her in a long while—or at least since James and Abby got married,” she added playfully.

  Did he dare hope that Emma’s fine mood reflected a change of heart? Jerome let Amanda and Jemima step inside ahead of him; then he lingered in the doorway. In her crisp pleated kapp, wearing a mustard-colored dress that accentuated her hazel eyes and the hint of ginger in her brown hair, Emma looked even prettier than she had at the wedding. “And the newlyweds are on their first gift-collecting visit?” he asked.

  “They left yesterday for Queen City,” she said as they entered the house. “Abby doesn’t have a clue about what will be going on here all day, either. It’s not easy, keeping such secrets from her.”

  “I hope we’ll locate a gift they’ll cherish every bit as much as the quilts these ladies will be making,” Jerome replied as he removed his hat. “And I’m pleased you’ll get to work with them next Saturday, too. You’re a gut sport to help me with my shopping today, Emma.”

  Jerome glanced around, immediately feeling at home. Even though a long worktable and chairs now took up the center of the front room, the recliners, sofas, and tables were of the same vintage he’d grown up with—which meant everything looked a little worn, but comfortable. A woodstove at the other end of the room put out enough heat to make the house feel cozy, and a sweet cinnamon aroma filled the air.

  Merle ambled out of the kitchen, a grin on his weathered face. “You folks got an early start. These ladies must’ve been prodding you along, Jerome,” he remarked.

  “They were eager to be on the road, jah—and it smells like you’ve been baking all morning, Merle,” Jerome teased. “What’d you make me?”

  Emma’s dat laughed. “Sure you don’t want to stay and find out? What with those casserole pans Amanda carried in, you and I could be the taste testers while the girls do their quilting.”

  “Don’t go getting any such ideas, Jerome!” Eunice’s voice came from the kitchen. “We all want to see what sort of wedding gift you and Emma find on your shopping trip today.”

  When Eunice stepped out to stand beside Merle, Jerome went over to greet them. They were such a dear pair, as faded and worn as their sofa, yet their eyes sparkled in their weathered faces. “You two look mighty perky this morning,” he remarked. “So, how many years has it been since you got hitched?”

  “Way too many,” Emma’s dat murmured.

  “Never mind him,” Eunice said as she straightened her glasses. “It’s been sixty-three years. We went ahead with it even though my folks had their doubts. I was barely seventeen, you see,” she added coyly. “Somewhat younger than Emma.”

  Jerome couldn’t miss the hint, nor did Emma’s exasperated sigh escape him. “Well, congratulations! The Lord’s been smiling on you both for a long time, and I wish you many more years together.”

  He ambled toward the long table where Emma was helping the girls unpack their big box. She was handling the colorful fabrics with a wistful smile, obviously wishing she could sew today. “We can leave anytime you’re ready,” he murmured.

  “Jah. I’ll fetch my coat.”

  A few minutes later they were exchanging good-byes with their families. Then, at last, Emma was settled on the seat of his enclosed buggy . . . although she was up against the door, as far as she could possibly get from him. Jerome clucked to his mules, and as they took off down the county blacktop, he considered ways to loosen her up, to return the smile to her face. It would be a long, tedious day if she wouldn’t look at him or talk to him, but he knew better than to mention her unrequited love for Matt Lambright again. He’d kicked himself for that careless comment several times since the wedding.

  “That’s Sparky and Winona,” he said, nodding toward the mules. “I’m training them for a fellow in Lancaster.”

  Emma’s brows rose. “Pennsylvania?”

  “No, no—north of here, near the Iowa border,” he replied with a chuckle. “I bred my donkeys to his Palominos, which is why they have the tawny coats and blond manes. You don’t see that too often in a mule.”

  “Ah.”

  Jerome waited, but Emma had no further response. It wasn’t your best idea, talking about breeding, dummy, he chided himself. Why would Emma care about mules, anyway?

  After a few minutes they passed Nissley’s Ridge and the Mast place, leaving Cedar Creek behind. “I thought we’d try the two furniture stores over toward Clearwater, and maybe the antique mall,” Jerome suggested. “But if you’ve got a better idea—or specific gifts Abby might’ve mentioned—I’m all ears.”

  Emma shrugged, watching the passing countryside. “When I told her people were curious about what to get them, Abby said she and James have everything they need. Which comes from Sam’s owning the mercantile, I suppose.”

  It wasn’t a helpful answer, but at least she’d strung together more than two words. Was Emma shy around guys? Or was she afraid of him? Even if she’d been sweet on Matt, surely other fellows had taken her out, or given her rides home from Singings when she’d been younger.

  About ten minutes later—an awfully long, quiet ten minutes—Jerome pulled into the parking lot of the first furniture store. Wyman had told him the Yoder brothers who ran the place specialized in bedroom and dining room sets and that they also did custom work. He’d no sooner pulled up to the hitching rail than Emma was opening her door. “Let me help you, Emma.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted as her feet hit the ground. “It’s always me who’s getting Mamm and Dat in and out when we’re on the road, after all.”

  Jerome sighed. He’d envisioned reaching up for her, grasping her hands or, better yet, placing his hands at her waist so he could hold Emma’s gaze for a moment, giving her his best smile. Most girls loved that. As he hurried to tie the mules to the rail and follow her inside the store, Jerome wondered yet again what he could do to bring Emma out of her shell.

  When he stepped inside, the rich scent of lemon oil and the huge display room of glossy wood furniture encouraged him. What woman didn’t love to wander down aisles of beautiful tables, chairs, and chests, imagining such pieces in her own home? It was far too early to suggest that maybe someday she’d be choosing new furniture as his wedding gift to her—that idea spooked him a bit, so it would probably send Emma running back to Cedar Creek without the buggy.

  Yet in truth, he’d already allowed his daydreams to wander in that direction. Emma was such a sensible girl and a good cook, too. He’d met few daughters who were so devoted to their parents, so he figured she’d be just as committed to loving her husband and children someday. Compared to the two other young women he’d nearly married, Emma Graber was well-grounded—already a member of the Old Order church—and she’d make some man a fine wife . . . if she’d only allow him to make up for embarrassing her the other day.

  Jerome exchanged greetings with the young Plain woman at the front counter and then went in search of his companion, who had disappeared behind a row of tall china cabinets. As he rounded the corner, he stopped to observe her. Emma was running her finger along the plate rail of a stunning walnut hutch, and her awestruck expression touched him.

  “That’s a gorgeous piece,” he remarked as he came up beside her. />
  When she read the price tag, however, she dropped it as though it had burned her fingers. “Ach, I never dreamed—how can anyone afford to pay so much?” she whispered. “Maybe we’d best go somewhere else.”

  Jerome smiled patiently. As he glanced at the tag, he thoroughly enjoyed the way his shoulder brushed hers, even though Emma still wore her heavy black coat and bonnet. She carried a faint cinnamon scent that made him want to nuzzle her neck, and he had to refocus his thoughts. Twenty-three hundred dollars didn’t seem outrageous, considering the size and workmanship of this hutch and the fact that Amish fellows had made it with such attention to the turnings and decorative details.

  “As I told you at the wedding, I want to give Abby and James a very nice gift,” he murmured. “They were such a help to Amanda’s family after last month’s storm tossed those two trees into Wyman’s house.”

  Emma’s mouth formed a perfect O. She was finally looking at him, but her incredulous stare wasn’t what he’d been hoping for. Did she think he was showing off, flaunting his wealth? Spending above his means to impress her?

  When Emma moved on down the aisle, past other hutches and sideboards, it occurred to him that she might have a point. Considering how long it took him to earn two thousand dollars, maybe he shouldn’t spend that much on a wedding present for friends.

  “You’re right, Emma,” Jerome said as he followed her past a large selection of dining room tables and chairs. “These pieces are too big for Abby’s house, anyway—and James did say they were living there, ain’t so?”

  “Jah, that’s the plan.” Emma stopped to admire a beautiful sleigh bed, crafted of oak, displayed between a matching dresser and a tall armoire. When she noticed him smiling at her, she hurried away as though his wild, private thoughts were written all over his face.

  Jerome sighed. Was he that easy to read? Thank goodness he’d refrained from suggesting they might test the mattress—just teasing her, of course. He could well imagine Cora, Dora, and Simon launching themselves onto these beds when their parents weren’t watching, but this was Emma Graber. It seemed she’d lost the childlike sparkle he longed to see in her honey brown eyes.

  As they came to another corner of the store, however, Jerome noticed several smaller items that might make better gifts. “How about a clock?” he asked as they approached a wall covered with timepieces in several styles. Some had pendulums, or cuckoo birds and moving dancers, and other models played songs while the sections of their faces moved to the music. As they struck the hour, several of the clocks began to chime or play familiar tunes—a sound he’d always delighted in. While the Amish didn’t allow musical instruments and didn’t hang fancy artwork on the walls of their homes, most families owned a special clock or two. They were a necessity, after all—especially since folks weren’t supposed to wear watches.

  But Emma was already walking away. “Abby’s got a clock that belonged to her dat in the front room, and James gave her a new one as his engagement gift,” she replied over her shoulder.

  Jerome refused to give up. The Yoder store was filled with fabulous pieces, and he enjoyed browsing even if nothing seemed appropriate for the newlyweds. “These wall-mounted shelves are attractive,” he remarked as he studied a couple of them. “And here’s a little corner cabinet—small enough to fit in any home, and useful as a lamp stand as well.”

  But Emma had already gone around the corner and was heading toward the store’s entrance. Rather than giving in to her skittishness, Jerome ambled between several styles of wooden rocking chairs—and what family couldn’t use one of those? These rockers were small enough to fit where recliners and upholstered chairs would not, and every couple needed one when the kids started coming along. When the bell above the door jangled, however, Jerome quickened his pace. He got outside just in time to watch Emma’s backside disappear into his buggy.

  Jerome climbed into the rig and took up the traces. Maybe it was best to ask the question that niggled at him rather than try to second-guess the young woman who had once again scooted against the opposite door. “Emma, are you still upset because I got too personal at the wedding? Or are you afraid of me?”

  Her breath escaped in a cloud of vapor. “No! I—it’s just that, well . . . I’ve never gone furniture shopping,” Emma admitted in a strained whisper. “I had no idea how expensive things are.”

  “Well, you’ve got that right,” Jerome replied. “But when folks buy Amish pieces, they look to have them for a lifetime. So maybe we should skip the other furniture place, eh?”

  “Jah. Please.”

  How could he help Emma relax? When they’d been mingling amongst guests at two weddings and at her mamm’s birthday party last month, he would never have guessed she’d be so skittish when she was alone with him. It was best to stick to conversation, even though Jerome longed to slip his arm around her shoulders—if only because the morning was turning colder and damp. The gray clouds rolling across the sky suggested snow.

  “Surely we’ll find something in the antique mall,” Jerome said as he steered the mules back onto the pavement. “It’s fun to look at all the old stuff, even if some of it’s basically junk that didn’t sell at somebody’s estate auction.”

  But when they stepped inside the old barn that had been renovated into a consignment shop, Jerome sensed that the two floors of booths crammed with odds and ends might overwhelm Emma even more than the furniture store had. She walked ahead of him with her hands stuffed into her coat pockets, as though she feared she might break something.

  Jerome frowned. Emma’s shyness was wearing him thin. While she glanced into each booth as they passed it, she wasn’t taking time to really look at anything.

  “Say, what about this drop-leaf table?” he asked. He lifted one side to snap it into place, smiling at its efficient design. “This is only a foot wide—would fit against the wall as a lamp table—yet it opens out to seat six, the tag says. And it comes with these sturdy wooden fold-up chairs. It would be gut for when James and Abby have folks over for dinner.”

  Emma shrugged. “Most likely if they have company, they’ll include Sam’s bunch and the parents and me,” she replied. “So we could eat at Mamm and Dat’s big table or in Barbara’s kitchen, the way Abby’s done since she moved into her little house. But jah, it’s a clever piece.”

  For another twenty minutes they moved from booth to booth, following the same pattern: Jerome pointed out an item he liked and Emma nixed it. While she had kept him from choosing gifts that would be inappropriate—and had saved him the two thousand bucks he’d have spent on a china hutch—she’d also spoiled the fun he usually had while poking around in antique stores. As they stepped outside again, he felt tiny flutters of moisture hitting his face.

  “Shall we get some lunch?” Jerome asked once they were seated in the rig. “There’s a vintage-style diner just down the road . . .”

  “Or we could go back to Cedar Creek,” Emma remarked in a hopeful tone. “Between what Mamm and I fixed and what Amanda brought, there’s plenty enough for us to join them.”

  Jerome smiled. “But you’ve spent your morning with me and saved me from making a lot of mistakes,” he said gently. “I’d like to treat you to a meal you didn’t have to cook yourself. Will that be all right?”

  Emma smiled as the color rose in her cheeks. “Well, since you put it that way . . .”

  He was thankful that once they were seated in a red leatherette booth with a chrome-edged table between them and a miniature jukebox on the wall, Emma took off her black coat and bonnet. In her amber cape dress and a cream-colored apron that fastened behind her neck, she looked much more attractive and . . . inviting.

  Jerome was pleased when she ordered a patty melt with fries and a side of tomato soup. At least she wasn’t going to be finicky about her food, like some girls were. After he ordered the blue plate special, which was meat loaf, he tapped on the wall-
mounted jukebox. “Pick a song, Emma. We can listen while we wait for our lunch.”

  As she flipped through the selections, Jerome fished out a quarter and put it in the slot. “F six,” she murmured.

  In a few moments, “See You Later, Alligator” filled the small diner. As Emma tapped her fingers on the tabletop, keeping time to the old rock-and-roll song, she looked as happy as Jerome had ever seen her. At last, he’d found something they both enjoyed, even if the church didn’t allow them to play such music at home.

  “Dat took James and Abby and me to a horse auction once, when we were around ten or eleven,” she recounted. “We ate lunch at a place similar to this one, and Dat played this record on the jukebox—and it’s stuck with us ever since. Even on days when he can’t recall what he ate for breakfast, he knows every word to this song.”

  “It’s a snappy tune,” Jerome agreed, tapping his toes. Just for fun, he wanted to catch Emma’s feet between his and give them a quick squeeze, but he thought better of it. “It’s nice to have that memory from when your dat was younger and stronger. My mamm and dat died when our house burned to the ground, when I was just ten.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “And how was it that you didn’t—I mean . . .”

  The concern on her face coaxed Jerome to grasp her hand. “I was staying overnight at a cousin’s house,” he replied. “The firemen said the old furnace exploded, and because the house was built of very dry wood they’d saved from a barn they’d torn down, my folks were gone before they knew what hit them. That’s when Aunt Amanda and Uncle Atlee took me in—and probably why I get such a kick out of your dat.”