by Naomi King
Alice Ann nodded happily. She looked so ready to talk about her busy day, but no words came out.
Wyman gazed at the young faces around his table. “I’m pleased that you could be so helpful at Amanda’s,” he said. “We’ve talked about how . . . challenging it might be to have Jemima here—”
“She makes the best meat loaf and fried pies!” Simon declared. “Can we go there to work every day?”
The older boys were nodding as they wolfed down their cold ham and potato salad. It seemed that spending time with Amanda’s crotchety mother-in-law had given his kids a new perspective on her—another plus. “In just seven days, Jemima, Amanda, and your three new sisters will be living with us,” he reminded Simon. “It would be a fine thing if you spoke so kindly about them once they’re here, because we’ll all have some adjusting to do.”
When Vera cut the rhubarb custard pie and brought it to the table, Wyman placed a creamy pink wedge of it on his dessert plate along with a dense, dark brownie. “I’ll be back in a while.”
“Going out to sweet-talk his girlfriend,” Pete mumbled to Eddie as he took a slice of pie.
Wyman turned before he got to the door, raising an eyebrow at his middle son. “After the way you’ve tormented Lizzie, you could probably take notes from your dat about how to treat a girl right. I don’t want to hear any more disrespectful talk about Amanda or my feelings for her. Understand?”
Pete looked down at his plate. “Jah, Dat. Sorry.”
Wyman strode outside and down the lane, crossed the road to the elevator office, and punched Amanda’s phone number. As it rang, he settled into his desk chair and took the first big bite of his pie.
“Jah, hullo?” Amanda asked softly.
“Mmmm,” he replied, savoring the tartness of the rhubarb and the sweet, creamy custard.
“Wyman? It’s you, jah?”
He laughed. “You were expecting another fellow to call?”
“Well, no, but—”
“I’m teasing you, my love. I’ve escaped from the supper table with a slice of the pie you sent,” he said as he forked up another bite. “It’s the only piece I’ll see, so I intend to enjoy every morsel of it.”
“Ah.” Her low chuckle sent little tremors throughout his body. “Jah, your boys can tuck away the food, but it was gut having them here. They finished the haying—got it all put up in the barn, too. It would’ve taken Jerome a couple or three days if he’d worked by himself.”
“Glad to hear they made themselves useful. I need to encourage Eddie toward an apprenticeship of some sort, as he’s not inclined to work here at the elevator.” Wyman eased the pie into his mouth, closing his eyes to better appreciate its blend of flavors. “But enough about my boys. What did you accomplish today?”
“Oh, Vera, Lizzie, and I packed up my pottery—”
Rather than ruin Amanda’s mood with another warning about Uriah Schmucker’s intolerance of art, Wyman enjoyed the sound of her voice as he ate his dessert.
“—and Jemima’s changed her tune about living with your three boys, too. They won her over with their gut manners and the way they devoured her cooking.”
“See there? It’s all working out, this blended family thing.” Truth be told, he wasn’t looking forward to having Atlee’s mother live with them, for she had a sour disposition and a sharp tongue. But Jemima was part of the package . . . and maybe she would decide to stay on at the Lambright farm to keep house for Jerome. Or she might move back there after a week or two of living with eight kids. “Packing aside, are you . . . ready to become my bride next week?”
When Amanda exhaled, he pictured her with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. He wanted to kiss the soft column of her neck. . . .
“I am,” she stated. “Whenever I feel overwhelmed by what’s still left to do, I remind myself that this packing and upheaval shall pass. I love you so much, Wyman.”
He gripped his plate to keep from dropping it. “When you say that, it does funny things to my insides, Amanda.”
“Hmm. Gut funny, or . . . odd funny?”
“You make me feel like a man again.”
She sucked in her breath, as caught up in these intimate whispers as he was. Wasn’t it wonderful that they both craved the sexual side of marriage? Many of his friends hinted that their wives merely gave in to their needs rather than respond with any sign of passion.
“And I’m looking forward to being your woman, Wyman, instead of being a single parent.”
“I understand that feeling. The Lord knew what He was doing when he created men and women to be together.” He rubbed the tines of his fork across the plate to capture the last crumbs of his pie. “I should let you go. Something tells me Simon will be too excited about driving those mules to settle down before bed.”
Wyman hung up, feeling immensely satisfied. It was peaceful, sitting in the shadows of the office as the sun went down. As he thought ahead to his wedding day, he prayed that this serenity would carry him through the difficulties of combining two broods under one roof.
But mostly, Wyman gave thanks for rhubarb pie and for the woman who had baked it.
Chapter Seven
When the greenhouse door opened, Abby glanced up from placing Mason jars filled with celery—the traditional wedding centerpiece—in the middle of a table set for the day’s noontime feast. “Emma! Gut of you to come over so early,” she said. “Even though this is our third wedding in the past three weeks, Barbara and Mamm and I still can’t manage it all ourselves.”
Emma picked up another tray loaded with centerpieces and began to set them out. “Jah, but you did it up right for Matt and Phoebe. Amanda’s lucky that you offered to help with her big day.”
Abby glanced around to be sure they were alone in the glass-walled greenhouse. It was seven in the morning, so folks would soon start arriving for the wedding. “Wyman gave Sam a check that more than covered the dinner and desserts Beulah Mae and Lois have cooked up, plus a donation to our district’s emergency fund,” she said in a low voice. “He seems so happy that Sam’ll be preaching, too.”
Emma cleared her throat purposefully. “Speaking of happy—did you know Amanda asked me to be her newehocker?”
“Jah? Who’s the lucky fellow she’s paired you with?”
The way Emma rolled her brown eyes warned Abby that her best friend was in no mood to be teased. “Jerome Lambright, of all people. I’ve only seen him a couple of times, but—”
“If you ask me, Jerome’s a fine-looking fellow.”
“Abby! You sound just like Mamm, trying to match me up with him.” Emma set a celery centerpiece on the table with a thunk that might well have broken the jar. “When we were at Mrs. Nissley’s Kitchen cooking the chickens for today’s roast, the women went on and on about what a fine catch Jerome would be—”
“Sam says he’s doing very well at training and selling the mules he breeds,” Abby remarked. “And what with him taking over the farm after Amanda moves into Wyman’s—”
“You obviously haven’t heard about how he’s asked two girls to marry him, and then backed out both times!” Emma blurted. “Jah, he’s got the looks and now the farm, but why do I want to get mixed up with a—a bounder like that? Why, he’s twenty-four and not even joined the church yet!”
Abby returned to the sink area, where she’d been filling the jars with water and celery. As much as she loved Emma, she wondered if her friend’s habit of jumping to negative conclusions might be standing in the way of her happiness about anything.
But this was no time to discuss it. Through the glass-paned wall, she saw buggies pulling in and Amanda Lambright was stepping down from one of them. “Here comes our bride,” Abby announced. “Try to tolerate Jerome for today, just because Amanda asked you to stand up with her.”
“Jah, but only because she has no sisters or—”
&n
bsp; Abby gave her friend a bewildered look. Was it her imagination, or was Emma sounding more like her fussy mother these days?
“You’re right,” Emma murmured. “I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. It’s just for a few hours. I don’t have to pretend I’m interested in him.”
Here came Lois Yutzy with a pull cart full of bread, and her husband, Ezra, followed her with a similar cartload of pies. As other folks carried in food and serving utensils, Abby rushed to hold the door for James, who was carefully balancing the two-tiered wedding cake Lois had baked in her shop.
“Gut thing you’ve got strong, steady hands,” she said as he brushed past her. Dressed in his crisp black trousers and vest, with a fresh white shirt, he looked so handsome . . . and so much like a groom it made her thoughts wander.
James gave her a lingering look. “These hands are gut for handling things besides cake, too, Abby-girl,” he murmured. “But we’ll save that thought for later.”
Oh, but he was in a romantic mood! Abby had to admit that hosting three weddings had put her in a state of anticipation, too, and yet . . . it concerned her that James seemed eager to show his affection in front of everyone. While she had nothing to be ashamed of, courting this fine man, she felt more comfortable about kissing and such when they were alone.
But first they had to get Wyman and Amanda hitched. Abby had a long day ahead of her and not a moment to stand idle until the dishes were washed after this evening’s supper.
Neighbor ladies bustled around the big, airy greenhouse to unload the baked goods for Lois. When Abby turned to watch James arrange the wedding cake on the eck, just so, someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“Now there’s a fellow who looks ready to sit up front with his own cake and his own pretty bride.”
Abby turned and threw her arm around Rosemary’s shoulders. “We thought you and Matt were going to Queen City to visit and collect your gifts.”
Rosemary watched her Katie toddle behind Matt as he went up to help James. “Mamm and my sister caught a stomach bug, so we’ll go when they’re well. And besides,” she added, gesturing toward another high-sided wagon loaded with pies, “this is my chance to repay you folks for the feast you prepared for our wedding.”
“It was our pleasure to help out,” Abby insisted. “Especially with your Mamm and family living a couple hours away.”
“And here you are hosting Amanda and Wyman’s wedding, too,” Rosemary continued as they set her pies on the cutting table. “Honestly, Abby, you and Barbara and Treva make the rest of us look like slackers! Besides, this gave me a gut trial run with my new oven before I start up my baking business.”
“You and your oven did a fine job, too. These apple pies with the streusel topping smell so gut.” As Abby inhaled their sweet cinnamon scent, she watched her nephew talking with James as they set up the chairs at the eck. “Matt looks mighty happy these days, too . . . even if his new beard isn’t quite filled in yet.”
Rosemary blushed. “He says if I’d quit tugging on it, and teasing him about it, the hair would grow in faster. Katie loves to rumple it when she sits in his lap of an evening.”
Oh, but that was a picture . . . big, burly Matt with a blond toddler in his lap, chattering at him as she ran her curious fingers over his face. Abby hoped she would see such a sight in her own home, lit by the glow of oil lamps, when she and James were winding down after a busy day.
When James scooped Katie into his arms, the little girl’s giggles echoed in the high-ceilinged greenhouse. Abby held her breath, savoring the sight of the man she loved holding a wee one . . . much like Jesus had paid special attention to children. Her heart throbbed with an urgent longing. If her courtship with James would just move a little faster, she might be holding their firstborn next year at this time . . .
“Now, Merle—Merle!” Eunice Graber’s voice rang out. “No need for you to be in here pestering these gals. We should be getting to the house before the service starts!”
Abby turned to see James and Emma’s dat coming toward her with a sweet smile on his face. Behind him, their mother Eunice’s thick heels thunked on the floor and her eyes were wide behind her pointy-cornered glasses.
“Fiddlesticks!” Merle muttered. “I’ve come to get a hug from Abby. It’ll get my day off to a better start.”
How could she not adore a fellow who felt that way about her? Abby met Merle with open arms. Bless him, he was getting shorter, but he still had a lot of strength in his embrace—and he needed to know he was a fine person despite how his wife groused at him.
“Merle, gut morning to you,” she murmured. “Are you ready for yet another wedding?”
“I’m ready for your wedding, Abby,” he replied as he hugged her. “I keep telling that boy of mine that time’s a-wasting, but he’s slow to catch on.”
As Eunice caught up to them, Emma came their way as well. “James will figure it out in his own gut time,” Abby replied, hoping her confidence would make the statement come true. “But for today, we’ve all got our jobs to do—”
“And your job, Merle, is to stop making a spectacle of yourself!” Eunice slipped her arm through her husband’s, as though he needed her guidance. “If you’re wanting our James to propose to Abby, you can’t be hanging all over her, ain’t so?”
Oh, but Eunice’s reedy voice filled the room, to the point that other folks got quiet and turned to gawk. Abby’s face prickled as she eased away from poor Merle. She didn’t dare look toward James, for he had surely heard his mother’s outburst. Emma, too, seemed embarrassed as she came over to assist her elderly parents.
“Mamm, Dat,” she said in a tight voice. “I’m thinking plenty of folks we know from Clearwater and Bloomingdale are here. Shall we head to the house to visit?”
“Jah, Dat, let’s mosey over to where the menfolk are gathered,” James suggested as he stepped in to assist his sister. “I just saw Wyman’s brother Otto drive in, and he’s always gut for a story and a laugh, ain’t so?”
Merle turned to go with his son, but then he wiggled his fingers at Abby. “See you later, alligator.”
“After a while, crocodile,” she replied as the four Grabers headed for the door. When she returned to the table, Rosemary was taking the last pie from her wagon.
“Where did that come from, the part about the alligator and the crocodile?” she asked. “I thought Merle was getting confused again, except you answered him right off.”
Abby chuckled. “Merle used to love eating in a diner close to the auction barn. He took James and Emma and me to a horse sale once, and when that song was playing on the diner’s jukebox, we all got a big kick out of it,” she explained. “He probably can’t tell you what he ate for breakfast this morning, but he still recalls stuff from years ago.”
“Merle’s come over several times, asking Matt if he needs any help with the sheep,” Rosemary replied. “He’s such a sweet old fellow.”
“Jah, there’s nobody nicer than Merle.” Abby smiled as she made sure all the tables were properly set. And James couldn’t have missed the way his parents want him to pop the question, either, she mused.
• • •
Filled with a serene happiness, Amanda stood before more than two hundred guests, confidently repeating her vows after Bishop Vernon Gingerich. Standing beside Wyman as he gazed into her eyes, she felt cherished . . . adored by this man whose breathing matched hers as they promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.
“Are you confident, Sister, that the Lord has provided this our brother as a marriage partner for you?” Vernon intoned.
“Jah,” she replied.
A brief memory of her first wedding flitted through her mind. She had been so nervous the day she married Atlee—sick to her stomach to the point that some of the women had speculated she was already in the family way. But that was a lifetime ago. Surely this
surge of strength and assurance was a sign from above that her union with Wyman Brubaker would be a blessing beyond her wildest dreams. He was so handsome, with his dark hair and deeply tanned skin . . . so intent upon following her every word, with utter love written all over his face as the ceremony continued.
“Do you both promise together that you will with love, forbearance, and patience live with each other, and not part from each other until God will separate you in death?”
For a moment Amanda got so lost in Wyman’s gaze that she forgot to respond—but it was all right because Wyman, too, seemed speechless. “Jah,” they whispered in unison.
“Mamma! Hi, Mamma!” a familiar little voice cried out.
Vernon’s blue eyes twinkled and low laughter surrounded the wedding party. Lizzie, near the back of the women’s side, hastily grabbed Cora to make her sit down.
“Such a blessing it is, to be surrounded by your children as you and Wyman become man and wife,” the bishop said, beaming at the congregation. “And as we come to the final part of these sacred vows, I wish to offer up a prayer that this newly formed family will soon be woven together seamlessly,” he intoned. “Not like the delicate organdy of Amanda’s kapp, but like the TriBlend denim she will sew into pants for Wyman and his sons . . . sturdy enough to survive years of wear and tear without fading or splitting or unraveling when it’s stretched to the limit. Shall we bow for a moment?”
Amanda’s soul stilled during the silent prayer. The best blessing this morning was having this eloquent leader of Cedar Creek performing their ceremony rather than Uriah Schmucker. The crusty old Clearwater bishop had preached during the earlier church service about absolute obedience to God and the Ordnung, forsaking all individual needs for the higher good of their collective faith. While it was proper Old Order doctrine, his message had sounded harsh and inflexible. Intolerant and unforgiving.