by Naomi King
“I’m a mess with paint, but I’m real gut at moving furniture,” Jerome volunteered. “What if we went to the mercantile today for the paint, and I’ll get the feed supplement I’m needing for my mules?”
Eddie was trying not to seem excited about this new job. “Long as I don’t have to paint Pete’s and my room pink, I’m gut with doing it.”
“Denki, son. The Lord loves a cheerful giver.” Wyman glanced at Amanda, delighted that he’d surprised her—even if Alice Ann had eclipsed him. “Ask your mamm about her color preferences, and which rooms she wants you to start with. Jerome can show you what ladders and drop cloths might already be here, and you can pick up everything else you need at Sam’s store.”
“Too bad I’ve got school,” Pete murmured.
“Jah, too bad,” Eddie echoed smugly. “You’ll grow out of it.”
“I can help, though!” Simon piped up. “I’m close to the floor, so I can paint down low.”
When Eddie looked ready to object, Jerome beat him to the punch. “You and I can find plenty of ways to help out, little buddy. After all, when the furniture’s been moved out of Eddie’s way, the donkeys and horses and mules still need to be fed and exercised. And you know those mares I showed you, with their sides sticking out?”
Simon nodded eagerly, his forkful of eggs suspended over his plate.
“They’ll have their babies any day now,” Jerome said, his excitement rising. “And if you’re around when those mules are born, they’ll bond with your scent and your voice. And come time to work with them, they’ll already trust you, Simon. That’ll be mighty special, ain’t so?”
Wyman considered Jerome’s way with Simon yet another blessing, a sign that his family was meant to be here on this farm.
• • •
Sure enough, Wyman’s talk with Ray and Trevor went well. He would wait patiently for the Fishers’ response, for they had many things to consider before buying his land.
He was impressed with Amos and Owen Coblentz, too. And when they presented their bid by week’s end, he would share it with Ray and Trevor.
Wyman then stopped by the bank to arrange for a survey of his family’s farm, as a necessary part of selling it. Tyler had pointed out that they could find basic legal forms online and at the bank, since they wouldn’t be going through a realtor—and meanwhile, Ray’s younger son had helped Wyman find some surprises for Amanda, as well. Computers and the Internet amazed him, even if he didn’t want to get personally involved with them.
On his way home, he stopped by the Cedar Creek Mercantile to pay for Eddie’s paint. He chuckled at the sight of James Graber leaning on the checkout counter as he gazed at Abby. At the jingle of the bell over the door, they sprang apart, laughing.
“So have you lovebirds set your wedding date?” It tickled Wyman that instead of envying James his romantic notions, he was full of them himself. He hadn’t felt this young in a long, long time.
“Matter of fact, we have!” Abby chirped. “And you’d better come celebrate with us on Thursday, the nineteenth of this month, too.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Congratulations.” Wyman pulled out his wallet. “I’ve come to settle up for the paint and supplies Eddie bought, and whatever else Amanda might’ve had him fetch. And . . . was some of that paint pink?”
Abby laughed, clapping her hands together. “Jah, and when Gail and I heard about Alice Ann talking, we jumped up and down. Wyman, this is such gut news!”
“I can’t explain it, except to say that with God, all things are possible.” Wyman itched to share the other major developments he and Amanda were setting into motion, but such announcements would be shared with his family first. Perhaps by Sunday, when the Grabers and the Lambrights were coming out to the house . . .
“But you’re too late with your money,” Abby stated matter-of-factly. “The bill’s been paid in full.”
Wyman frowned. “Sam will not cover the expense for all that paint.”
“Nope, he won’t,” Abby replied. “But when my brother saw how organized Eddie was about choosing his tools, and how eager he was to get started at your place, Sam hired him to paint the inside of the mercantile.”
Wyman gazed around the huge, two-story store. “That might take a while, because Eddie prefers to work by himself and—”
“Sam said he didn’t care how long Eddie took, he just wanted a gut job.” Abby’s brown eyes sparkled. “He’s tickled to be giving a young fellow work he doesn’t want to do himself, you see.”
“Seems to me your boy might be starting up a trade,” James remarked. “The folks who see Eddie painting while they shop will recommend him to their neighbors. And come to think of it,” he said as he winked at Abby, “our house across the road could use fresh walls, too. So see there? He’ll have to get a calendar to keep track of his jobs.”
Wyman shook his head. “First Alice Ann and now Eddie—two miracles in one day,” he murmured. “But who paid for the paint?”
Abby’s smile grew even wider. “Eddie asked Sam if he would consider the paint and supplies as an advance on his wages for painting the store, and Sam thought that was a fine idea. They started up an account in Eddie’s name, and he’s gut to go. I’d say you have an exceptional son there, Wyman. I was mighty proud of him when he and Jerome left here.”
“Who could’ve seen that coming?” Wyman was so pleased he slapped the countertop. “I’d better head home to congratulate my son, the painter. He must take after his mamm, eh? Both of them.”
Wyman clucked to the horse and headed into Bloomingdale. First he stopped at Lamar Lapp’s home to consult with the bishop about a couple of things. Then, as the buggy rolled down the unpaved lane toward Amanda’s old white farmhouse, he couldn’t stop grinning. Had there ever been a day like this one? Even though awaiting the final decision from the Fishers—and the bid from Amos Coblentz—might keep him awake for the next night or two, he was the happiest man alive. He had the dearest wife on the face of the earth, and his kids were getting beyond their grief, growing again as they meshed with Amanda’s girls. Life just didn’t get any better.
• • •
When Abby saw Wyman’s buggy pull onto the blacktop, she leaned across the counter to grasp James’s sturdy hands. These moments without anyone else in the store were rare, and she enjoyed finding unexpected times and places to express her affection. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Do you, now?” James gripped her fingers. “You just wait, Abby. Come November nineteenth, I’m going to show you a whole new meaning of love—and excitement, too. Are you ready for that, bride of mine?”
Oh, but she got a shimmery feeling when James talked that way. “For sure and for certain I am,” she replied. “And speaking of excitement—is it just me, or was Wyman a man afire today? I’ve not seen him looking so happy, even on his wedding day.”
“Just goes to show you that love improves with age, even if it’s only been about a month since he hitched up with Amanda,” James remarked. “Didn’t we know she’d be gut for him?”
“Jah, but what’s going on if they’re painting the house in Bloomingdale?” she asked in a speculative tone. “That man’s keeping secrets behind those handsome brown eyes, mark my word.”
James placed his hand on his chest and let out a playfully dramatic sigh. “Ah, maybe someday you’ll say that about me and my eyes, Abby—and I’ll keep you guessing about my secrets, too. Every one of them will be something wonderful involving you, after all.”
While she loved their teasing chitchat, Abby had been hoping to discuss something more important before Wyman had interrupted them, and this seemed like an opportune moment. She focused on James, choosing her words carefully. “And after we marry, how will you feel about me working here in the store? And continuing with my Stitch in Time business?”
James’s brows rose at the change in her mood. �
��Honey-girl, I want you to be happy—”
“But you know Sam will insist that I stay home and start our family,” Abby said in a rising voice. “I’ve seen how Barbara’s and Amanda’s jobs have caused them problems, so you and I need to figure out how we’ll handle this issue.”
James looked down at their entwined hands. “The way you’ve expressed your question tells me your answer to it,” he said with a little laugh. “But your heart’s in the right place, Abby, and so are your priorities. When the time comes for you to stay home—with our babies, or with my parents—you’ll do that. I’ve never doubted it.”
Abby blinked. While she hadn’t figured James would raise his voice or put his foot down, his rock-solid faith in her touched something deep in her heart. “Well, that simplifies things,” she murmured. “This matter’s been on my mind a lot lately—”
“So it’s gut that you’ve come to me with your concerns,” he replied. “We should make such major decisions together, ain’t so?”
Abby smiled. Why had she thought this would be such a difficult conversation? “I suspect Sam will fire me if I don’t quit working at the store of my own free will,” she mused aloud. “But it wouldn’t be that hard to do my sewing from home. . . .”
“Rosemary bakes pies in her kitchen for Lois Yutzy, after all,” James remarked, “and I don’t see Matt or Katie suffering for it. Your Stitch in Time business is just one more way you connect with folks—and help them, Abby,” he insisted. “And that’s important to you.”
“Jah, you said that just right. It’s never been so much for the money as for the satisfaction of doing what I love.”
James’s smile teased at Abby, yet it was a sure sign of how much he respected her, too. “Watching Wyman and Amanda deal with this very same matter has taught me a few things,” he said lightly. “I’d be foolish to ignore your needs, Abby, just for the sake of being a husband who ruled his roost.”
And didn’t that clarify this whole matter? A satisfying marriage was more likely when both partners could express their needs and exert some control—and this wise, patient man was allowing her to do that. “You make a gut mirror, James,” she said softly. “When I stand before you, I see myself more clearly.”
“And when I stand before you, Abby, I see the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world,” he replied in a dreamlike voice. “I thank my lucky stars—and God—that you’ll soon be mine. And then, honey-girl,” he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “there will be no end to the kissing and the caressing and the loving. Because I said so!”
James blew her a kiss as he walked toward the door. “Meanwhile, I’m back to work. The fellows must wonder if I’ve eloped during my afternoon break.”
As the bell jingled, Abby laughed. James had just told her in no uncertain terms how their marriage was going to be. And now, November nineteenth couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Thirty-two
Saturday morning, Amanda was on pins and needles as Wyman kissed her good-bye and left for Clearwater. “Remember,” he whispered. “You’re keeping all of this business about our move to Bloomingdale under your kapp. Maybe tonight at supper I’ll have an announcement.”
Yesterday Amos Coblentz had presented the bid for repairing the Brubaker house, and her husband had passed it along to Ray and Trevor. And while Wyman had hardly slept for his excitement, Amanda had lain awake for a different reason.
“Sixty-five thousand dollars?” she had murmured over and over. “What if the Fishers won’t want the farm, with that extra expense tacked on? And what if other buyers won’t consider the property, either, unless we first make the repairs? And how will we come up with the money to—”
Wyman had shushed her with gentle kisses. “Have faith, Amanda. I have a gut feeling about this whole transaction,” he’d murmured. “When the bank’s assessor told me the going rate for that eighty-acre tract was six thousand per acre, my eyeballs nearly fell from their sockets. So when I told Ray and Trevor I’d sell it to them for forty-five hundred an acre—three hundred sixty thousand dollars instead of the four hundred eighty thousand it’s worth—that made the house repairs seem pretty reasonable.”
Amanda’s brain was still swimming with such incredible figures. It boggled her mind, what farmland was selling for these days—but she set aside such calculations. No matter what the Fishers decided, Wyman had made up his mind. They would be living here at her farm permanently—because it made her happy. And that amazed her more than any of his other decisions.
He was such a good man, her husband. Wyman had changed lately: he seemed freer, more serene, as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders when he’d decided to leave the Clearwater district. And wasn’t that worth more than any amount of money?
Amanda continued kneading the bread she was making for tomorrow’s dinner with the Lambrights and the Grabers. Across the kitchen Lizzie and Vera raced to see who could fill her baking sheet with spoonfuls of oatmeal cookie dough first. The three youngest girls were cutting out sugar cookies under Jemima’s watchful eye, while Eddie was painting the front room. Jerome, Pete, and Simon were assisting one of the mares with birthing her mule foal. Everyone had a task, and all were working together today . . . one big happy family.
Such a blessing that was.
“Mamm! Mamm, there’s a big ole truck comin’ up the lane!” Simon’s voice rang out in the yard. “Come and see!”
Cora and Dora ran to the door, floury hands and all, followed by a toddling Alice Ann. As Amanda wiped her hands, she peered out the window, past the broadfall trousers that flapped on the clothesline. “That fellow must surely be lost,” she murmured. She slipped into her shawl and stepped out to the porch.
Up the lane trundled a delivery truck, and as Simon ran out to greet it Wags circled the boy, barking loudly. Amanda strode into the yard, hoping to redirect the driver before he got all the way up to the house. “What can I do for you?” she called out as the driver’s window lowered. “You must’ve turned in at the wrong farm.”
The fellow replied, “If your name’s Amanda Brubaker, we’re right where we’re supposed to be.”
“Jah, that’s me, but—” What was going on here?
The driver pulled forward until he was closer to the house, then shut off his engine. As he and another fellow hopped out of the cab, he waved toward the barn. “You guys are just in time to help us unload, if you care to,” he hollered to Jerome and Pete. “Your backs are a lot younger than ours.”
Then he held out a square box with a plastic screen that displayed some writing. “If you’ll just sign your name here, Mrs. Brubaker—”
“But I have no idea— What are you bringing us?” she asked in a flustered voice.
“Says here we’ve got an oak bedroom set, a potter’s wheel, and a kiln,” he replied as he made the lines of tiny print move up and down on the screen.
Amanda gasped. “But I didn’t order— Who could have—”
“You related to a Wyman Brubaker?” the driver asked. “His name’s here at the top of the order. So if you’ll sign off, we can get your stuff unloaded and be out of your hair.”
“It’s okay, Amanda,” Jerome assured her with sparkling eyes. “Wyman told me to watch for a delivery, and it’s arrived sooner than we thought.”
Dumbfounded, Amanda took the thick plastic tool the driver handed her and wrote a signature that didn’t resemble her penmanship in the least. It didn’t seem to matter: his partner was already lowering a large wooden crate from the back of the truck on a motorized platform. The crate sat on a wheeled cart, which Jerome and Pete rolled toward the back kitchen door, where there were no steps to contend with. Simon followed at a jog while Wags bounded around all three of them, barking excitedly.
Amanda watched, agog, while the deliverymen lowered another crate with a picture of a potter’s wheel on the side. It looked just li
ke the kick wheel Uriah had destroyed . . . but what did this mean? She would have jumped up and down, clapping her hands, had it not been for the two fellows watching her.
“You okay, lady?” the driver asked. “Most folks don’t seem so befuddled when we bring ’em stuff.”
“You have no idea,” Amanda gasped. “I have no idea—oh, my, but this is quite a surprise! And you have a bedroom set, too?”
“Yup, from an Oak Ridge Furniture shop in Jamesport,” he replied. “Picked it up on our way. Nice folks there.”
“My stars,” she murmured, for she couldn’t think of anything else to say. After the truck rumbled back down to the road, Amanda went inside—just in time to rescue two sheets of oatmeal cookies from the oven, because everyone else seemed to be in the other room, all talking at once.
“But why would Dat be buying her another kiln?” Vera asked.
“We dropped the other one, remember?” Pete replied.
“This wheel looks just like her other one—except newer, and not all busted up,” Eddie remarked.
“And what’ll we do when the Schmuckers find out?” Lizzie asked in a shrill whisper. “I was hoping Teacher Elsie wouldn’t have any more reasons to pick on me!”
“And a whole new bedroom set for him and Amanda,” Vera mused. “Something’s going on here, and Dat’s not been letting on. We’ll have to pounce on him, soon as he gets home.”
Amanda smiled, feeling giddy. For just a moment she lingered in the kitchen while the children speculated about these new items . . . ate a warm cookie as she stepped onto the porch. The boys had left the glossy oak bedstead, dresser, and night tables out here with the new mattress so they wouldn’t bump Eddie’s wet walls when they carried them through the front room.
Vera wasn’t the only one who would quiz Wyman the moment he stepped through the door. Most likely he had ordered the bedroom pieces because her old mattress was too soft to suit him . . . and because Atlee had made the set in their bedroom. Another fresh start for them, this furniture—and it had cost a pretty penny, too. She’d nearly fainted at the prices for the kiln and the wheel on the invoice . . . and he’d purchased all these items before they knew if the Fishers were buying Wyman’s land, too. And Wyman would soon be constructing a new grain elevator. . . .