by Naomi King
“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.
Chapter Ten
Abby 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 thoug
ht 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.
• • •
James 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 goi
ng 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.”
James squeezed Abby’s hand to keep from laughing out loud. Before Emma could reply, Jerome was lowering a ladder so Dat could climb to the high seat. Gail followed him, stepped into the wagon, and grabbed the picnic basket Abby handed up to her. Then up the ladder Abby scrambled, nimble as a monkey, while Ruthie and Beth Ann came running over from Matt and Rosemary’s place.
James watched the indecision play on his mother’s face. She was hesitant to go, yet she didn’t want to let Dat out of her sight . . . or let him have all the fun, either. James didn’t say a word. This was a chance for his mamm to decide how she preferred to spend her day, and for his sister to either accept Jerome’s invitation or be left behind. James settled against the wall of the wagon beside Abby in the fresh, sweet-smelling hay. He knew an opportunity for adventure when he saw one. And how often did he get to enjoy being driven in such a fine rig behind eight magnificent mules?
“Jerome, I’ll ride along on one condition,” his mamm called out over the kids’ voices. She pushed up her glasses, shifting from one foot to the other with anticipation. Emma got a strange look on her face.
Jerome smiled up at the two women. “And what might that be, Eunice? I’m having a fine time with my mules today, and I’m in the mood to do anything you’d ask.”
Mamm’s face lit up. She leaned over the railing like a girl being courted. “You’ve got to join us tonight for the supper I’ve fixed. And we’ve got some things to bring along for a picnic, too.”
“Hoo-wee!” Jerome cried as he lifted his hat in a salute. “Now how can a fellow say no to that? Come on down here, Eunice, and I’ll help you up the ladder. From the bench, you can see for miles in every direction, just like a queen.”
“I’ll get my shawl and pack the basket and be right back!”