Amanda Weds a Good Man

by Naomi King

  “I would never expect you to do that, Jerome.”

  “All right, then. Soon as we finish our dinner, we should head on over there,” he said. “I know some little girls—and one cranky old girl—who’ll be worried about why you left them and when you’ll be back.”

  Amanda nodded, again wondering if she was wrong to insist on her own way. Wyman, eight kids, and her mother-in-law were depending upon her to do the right thing. She smiled at her nephew. “Since when are you such a wise man, Jerome Lambright? Seems like only yesterday you were a kid helping Atlee with the chores, keeping track of Lizzie when she was a toddler,” she said in a faraway voice. “And now you’re advising me about my commitments. Way ahead of your years.”

  “Telling you what to do and where to go,” he teased. “Seems my experience with contrary mules might be paying off.”

  Laughter bubbled out of her as she swatted his arm. “I suppose your old aunt resembles a mule in more ways than—”

  “Oh, but you’re not old, Aunt Amanda,” Jerome countered quickly. “And I don’t want you getting that way before your time, either. Of course, it’s easy for me to say how Wyman ought to run his household and treat his wife. If I ever get hitched, you can’t hold me to such a liberal view of a woman’s power and privileges.”

  Amanda almost asked him how his pursuit of Emma Graber was going, but this wasn’t the right time. She picked at her lukewarm potatoes, waiting until Jerome scraped his plate clean. “Let’s do these dishes and be on our way,” she suggested. “I don’t know what I’ll say to Wyman but the words won’t come any easier if I stay around here, stalling.”

  Half an hour later, Amanda took a long last look around the kitchen and the front room. Empty, slightly darker spots on the faded walls marked where pieces of furniture had been. It struck her that this home was showing some wear and tear, whereas the Brubaker rooms had been painted recently . . . perhaps as Wyman had prepared for his new wife and her kids?

  After Jerome tethered a horse to the back of her buggy, they took off down the county road. While Amanda feared she would muddle the things she wanted to say to Wyman, she sat taller in the seat, filled with the conviction that her concerns were worthy of attention.

  After all, didn’t the whole family agree that Uriah and Mildred Schmucker had behaved improperly? Wasn’t it everyone’s place to give and to receive, to speak and to listen—to share and cooperate as they became a new family? As Amanda thought more about it, she realized that as the mother of this Brubaker bunch, she was second in command . . . which placed her wishes above the children’s as she encouraged them to get along as sisters and brothers with different last names.

  Still, as Dottie started down the lane to the large white house across the road from the grain elevator, her insides tightened. Even with Jerome taking her part, she had no guarantee that this situation would be worked out to her satisfaction. She had defied Wyman’s authority, after all. She had left him without a word of explanation, like a child running away from home. He didn’t have to understand that. He didn’t have to forgive her without first demanding penance . . . and the bishop would stand by him if Wyman made an example of her in front of the entire membership. Her sins were mounting up. . . .

  “Whoa, Dottie,” Jerome said as the buggy halted beside the house. He gazed at her, his dark eyes intense. “Ready for this?”

  Amanda squeezed his sturdy knee. “What happens will be God’s will, ain’t so?”

  “Remember our Plain proverb, Aunt,” Jerome murmured with a last pat of her hand. “‘Courage is fear that’s said its prayers.’”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Through the glass in the kitchen door, Wyman saw Amanda coming up the porch stairs. His first impulse was to jump up from the supper table, but when the kids heard her footsteps they beat him to it.

  “It’s Mamma! Mamma’s here!” one of the twins cried.

  “She’s come to take us home!” her sister exclaimed as the two of them ran for the door.

  Wyman winced at this sentiment as he watched Simon hurry out to the porch. “I told ya she’d miss us!” his boy crowed.

  Lizzie, too, rushed outside. “Mamm! When I came home from school and you weren’t here, I was afraid—”

  As Amanda hugged her eldest, rocking side to side, Wyman realized it would be a while before her children felt like a part of his family. The emotion on their two faces, mother and daughter, illustrated a love such as this woman would never feel for him. . . .

  Better to let the kids express their feelings first . . . soften her up, Wyman thought. Vera glanced at him, as though wondering whose side to be on. When Alice Ann squawked to get out of her high chair, however, his oldest daughter grabbed her up and followed the younger children out to where they were clamoring around Amanda.

  “Praise be to God,” Jemima murmured at her end of the table. “Jerome’s come with her, I see. Figured that’s where she went.”

  Eddie raised an eyebrow as he stabbed another hot dog from the platter. “What do you suppose Uriah will say about her leaving us?” he asked in an edgy voice.

  “Jah,” Pete chimed in, “if the bishop was mad enough to smash her pottery—”

  “This is not the bishop’s concern.” Wyman leaned closer, forcing his two teenage sons to meet his gaze. “And if Uriah hears of this incident, I’ll know who the tale-tellers were, won’t I? This is between Amanda and me, understand?”

  Eddie glanced toward the porch, where Amanda was hugging the twins and Simon in one wiggly, giggly huddle. “If she’s run back to her farm once, what’s to keep her from going back there every time some little thing—”

  “Mind your mouth, Edward. And mind your own business, too,” Wyman added. “I don’t need your advice about how to handle my marriage.”

  He rose from the table. Better to greet Amanda before she came inside, to set the tone for her return. Even though he yearned to hold her close and kiss her, Eddie hadn’t been totally off the mark: as the head of this family, Wyman was to establish the boundaries . . . state what sort of behavior was acceptable and what he wouldn’t tolerate from his new wife. He longed to have this conversation with her alone, but that luxury wasn’t possible while the kids and Jemima—and Jerome—were within earshot.

  He stopped halfway across the kitchen, his breath catching. Amanda was holding Alice Ann on her shoulder, and his wee blond daughter was clinging to her neck. This was the first time he’d seen his youngest allow anyone other than him and Vera to cuddle her. Witnessing this little miracle, he could easily imagine his wife cradling a baby—his baby—in her arms as she cooed to it and rocked from side to side, as she was doing now.

  Truth be told, the kids might be the reason she’ll stay, he thought. She owns a farm. And she already knows she can get by without a husband.

  Opening the door, Wyman nodded at the dark-haired young man who stood off to the side, observing Amanda with the kids. Had Jerome talked some sense into Amanda and escorted her home? Or did he see her side of this complicated situation? Wyman couldn’t tell. Amanda’s nephew was keeping his feelings off his face, leaning against the porch pillar as though he was in no hurry to leave.

  Wyman focused again on Amanda, who hadn’t yet met his eye. Although she belonged to him legally and by virtue of the Ordnung, she wasn’t a woman whose heart followed the rules—and the dire consequences of leaving their marriage hadn’t kept her from running away, either.

  Making her stay was his right . . . but it wasn’t a good strategy. How could he persuade her to remain here because she wanted to? How could he convince Amanda to love him so much that she could overlook the ties that bound her to him?

  As though Amanda finally realized he’d stepped outside—or was she waiting him out, making him sweat?—she looked at him full-on with her deep, dark eyes . . . eyes he dreamed of at night and in his spare moments at the grain elevator. The pa
in and hesitation he saw there gave him pause, for he suspected he’d caused some of it.

  “Amanda,” he murmured.

  “Wyman.”

  He waited. But his wife didn’t look ready to burst into an apology or an explanation. And the way she swayed with Alice Ann on her shoulder suggested that she knew her power all too well. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.

  Wyman felt torn between following the Old Ways, reprimanding her and demanding her allegiance, and wanting to engage her . . . to woo her. He knew what the bishop would expect of him, but Uriah Schmucker wasn’t here. And for that he thanked God.

  “Come in,” he suggested, gesturing for everyone to come inside. “We’re eating our supper—”

  “I’ll set on a couple more plates,” Vera said. “We’re so glad you’re back, Amanda!”

  Amanda’s smile made Wyman wish he’d said that first. Why was he making this harder than it had to be? “We’ve been mighty concerned about you . . . where you went, and why,” he said, gently grasping her arm. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  “Jah, we do.”

  As Amanda stepped into the kitchen ahead of him, Wyman observed the way the younger children shifted their plates to make room for Jerome and their mamm . . . how the twins insisted she sit between them rather than in her place at his left . . . Eddie’s and Pete’s expressions as they assessed Jerome’s presence . . . Jemima’s relieved smile as she opened her arms and Amanda hugged her.

  Would nothing ever be simple, now that three adults and eight children lived under his roof? Again Wyman longed for time alone with Amanda, but he sat down to handle this moment, the rest of this meal, as best he could.

  “Let’s bow for a word of thanks,” he said quietly. “God has blessed us, and we ask for His guidance as our family comes together again.”

  The moments of silence gave Wyman a chance to gather his thoughts, and to peer at Amanda from between his eyelids. The kids were settled in their places, their heads sweetly bowed—except for Alice Ann, who wiggled happily in her high chair.

  When he saw that Amanda was also secretly looking at him, Wyman’s pulse quickened. Her expression told him she wouldn’t surrender, but at least she had come back to work out their problems.

  “Amen,” he murmured to bring their prayer to a close. Before he could say anything more, Jerome looked purposefully around the kitchen and then into the front room.

  “I see you’ve found a place for the pie safe,” Amanda’s nephew said, “but otherwise, I understand that all of Amanda’s furniture is out in the shed. It’s difficult for her to use it out there, ain’t so? And harder for her to feel welcome if nobody else is willing to make the same sort of changes she made to become a part of this family.”

  The room got so quiet, it seemed the entire house had sucked in its breath. Wyman opened his mouth to reply, but again Jerome jumped in.

  “And what’s to be done about Uriah Schmucker destroying Amanda’s pottery and her wheel?” he asked in a more insistent voice. “While Plain folks aren’t to become worldly artists, we must still acknowledge how the Creator has gifted some of us in special ways. If it wasn’t God’s will for Amanda to make such colorful, useful dishes, He wouldn’t have granted her that ability, ain’t so?”

  Where had these sentiments come from? Jerome Lambright hadn’t impressed Wyman as such an eloquent sort, but he had just addressed two important issues that Amanda must have taken to her nephew . . . instead of to him, her husband. “Points well made,” he said. “And they will be addressed—”

  “Jah, they will,” Jerome remarked with a firm nod of his head. “Not my place to tell you how to run your house, Wyman, but had Amanda and Atlee not taken me in when I was orphaned, I would be nowhere today. Probably would’ve left the Plain faith altogether rather than sticking with an order that demands our highest and our best, without room for compromise. So if you folks won’t give this gut woman the home she deserves, I will.”

  Retorts whirled in Wyman’s mind. “You’re trespassing on sacred ground, Jerome. I—”

  “Jah, but I’m going to speak my mind anyway.” Jerome set down his fork. “The way I see it, you folks are clinging to the way things were when Viola was alive. Jah, you’ll always feel bad that she died when your mules spooked in that thunderstorm, believing somebody else should’ve grabbed those reins instead of her. But you know what?”

  Wyman blinked. He had no answer for the earnest young man who had nailed him with a pointed question and a gaze to match it. Why on earth would he be talking about Viola, when it was Amanda who—

  “Maybe I’m as much to blame for your first wife’s death as anyone else.” Jerome’s sibilant whisper rang in the silent kitchen. “After all, I trained those mules. Many’s the time I wondered if I should’ve done better with them.”

  “Nobody can predict how an animal will react in a storm,” Wyman murmured, feeling the weight of his children’s gazes from around the table. “If we truly believe that God’s will prevails—”

  “Then we let go of our guilt, because guilt means we’ve not accepted God’s will or His forgiveness,” Jerome insisted. “And we let go of the past, because dwelling there—feeling bad about things we couldn’t control—doesn’t allow us to enjoy God’s blessings now and in the future.”

  Wyman sat back in his chair, speechless. The amazement on Amanda’s face told him she hadn’t expected her nephew to speak out this way . . . and that she, too, felt overwhelmed by such a profound baring of his soul.

  “That’s a better sermon than I’ve heard in a long while,” Wyman murmured. “Part of me wants to tell you to mind your own business, Jerome, but you speak a truth none of us in this room can afford to ignore.”

  Jerome smiled cautiously. “Denki for hearing me out, Wyman. You’re a gut man—Amanda says so herself—and I want the best for you and your family. Amanda is the best, you know.”

  Wyman couldn’t argue with that. During the remainder of the meal, the conversation was lighter, and even if Amanda spoke mostly to the kids, she at least looked ready to stay. Ready to fix what was broken.

  But then, that was his job, too, wasn’t it?

  • • •

  As Amanda listened to the children’s prayers and then told her teenagers good night, her exhaustion made her feel heavy and slow. But there was no slipping away from the inevitable discussion with her husband. All evening, she and Wyman had exchanged tentative but meaningful glances that told her he intended to have his say . . . and then go beyond talking. Amanda saw lovemaking as a sign that Wyman had forgiven her in ways he couldn’t always say with words. And truth be told, she craved his affection after this tumultuous day.

  After she helped Jemima out of her clothes and into her nightgown, Amanda went downstairs. In the kitchen, her husband was warming milk in a small pan. He poured it into two mugs and then stirred in a liberal amount of hot chocolate mix.

  “I’ve never outgrown my love of cocoa. How about you?” he asked as he handed her one of the steaming cups.

  Amanda inhaled the rich fragrance. “It hits the spot like nothing else, jah.”

  “Shall we sit on the couch in the basement? Our voices won’t carry up to where other ears will hear us.”

  Amanda nodded, preceding him downstairs. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, for this was the moment the whole day had been leading up to. She was grateful that someone had swept up the shattered glass and removed her broken potter’s wheel, so the room held no reminders of the bishop’s visit. She and Wyman entered the sitting area, where a square of old carpet, some game tables, and a sofa were set apart from the storage area and shelves.

  Had Uriah and Mildred been here just this morning? Amanda felt as though she’d traveled more than the miles and time between here and her farm today. And who could have anticipated Jerome’s challenging words after he’d driven her back?


  But her nephew wasn’t the only one who needed to speak. Wyman had been trying to engage her all day, and she’d kept quiet until they could be alone.

  “I’m sorry I took off,” she murmured as they sat on the old sofa. The corduroy showed signs of kids’ drinks being spilled here, and she picked a couple pieces of popcorn from between the cushions. “I should have gone to the elevator to talk with you about the bishop’s—”

  “You did what seemed best.” Wyman sat apart from her, but wrapped his hand around hers. “Hearing about your frustrations from Jerome made me listen closer. I realize now that I’ve not paid enough attention to how . . . we Brubakers have expected you to change, while we’re still surrounded by our favorite, familiar furniture. It was never my intention to hurt you, my love.”

  My love. At least Wyman was inclined toward endearments instead of exhortations about following their faith . . . namely, being more submissive and obedient.

  “I’ll go to Uriah’s first thing tomorrow,” he continued earnestly. “I don’t appreciate the way he came into our home and destroyed your pottery and your wheel while our little ones looked on. But if Uriah refuses to back down or apologize, I don’t know what recourse we’ll have. He’s the leader God chose for our district.”

  “I understand that.” She could predict how Uriah would react to Wyman’s visit, too. “But as I’ve told Jerome, I can’t tolerate the Clearwater bishop, and I won’t resume my place in this family until some changes are made. I’m going to stand by what I’ve stated.”

  The flash in Wyman’s eyes told Amanda she’d gone too far. She had challenged his old habits and the Old Ways, and at first impulse, he intended to put her in her place—to make her submit to his will. But he held his tongue . . . sipped his cocoa as he considered her words and his response to them.