As Emma, James, and their dat waved good-bye to her two sisters and their families Friday morning, relief washed over her. The Lambrights had hosted all of them for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday, and the men had removed the pew benches from the house, so today—at last—she could collapse. James would return to work in his shop and Abby would be packing up her sewing supplies at the mercantile. The newlyweds wouldn’t be moving in until this evening, so Emma figured to relax and let Dat do the same. What with all the food their neighbors had brought, she wouldn’t have to cook for days.
Her brother waved one last time at the departing rigs and then steered her and Dat back into the house, out of the cold. Even though he’d taken Mamm’s death hard, James smiled as though he had a secret. “Eddie Brubaker will be here this morning to paint the kitchen and whichever room Abby will be sewing in,” he said. “It’s a surprise for her, but I figured everyone would feel cheerier in a bright yellow kitchen—”
“Bright yellow?” As Emma gazed toward the large kitchen, where the pale blue paint had faded to a dull gray after several years, all she could think of was how much more work this surprise—this intrusion—would mean for her. “What possessed you to choose that color? And today of all days, when I’m in no mood to shift everything out of the cabinets and off the countertops.”
James gently grasped her shoulders. With a new fringe of beard bristling along his jawline, he looked downright rakish, and far too cheerful. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Emmie,” he assured her. “You three sisters put everything away after breakfast, and Eddie’s experienced at using drop cloths and tape to keep his paint on the walls where it belongs. Let him do all the work—that’s what I’m paying him for.”
Emma exhaled impatiently, but what could she do? James had obviously taken it upon himself to cheer everyone up without consulting her. She shrugged out of his grasp as she felt tears welling up. Oh, but she longed for some private time to let her feelings out.
James, however, seemed oblivious to how he’d upset her. “Now—where had you and Abby figured on putting her machine and sewing supplies? I can be figuring out where to put the furniture from that room—”
“I’ll help you with that, Son,” Dat insisted. He’d been following this conversation closely, and his bushy eyebrows rose in anticipation. “And while we’re shifting things around, what would you and Abby think of taking the big bedroom upstairs and I’ll start bunking down here?” He pointed toward the short hallway in front of them. “Seems only right for me to move into the dawdi haus, where my folks used to be, and let you become the head of the family now that you’re married, James. And it’ll be safer, too, what with me not going up and down the stairs.”
Emma bit back another protest. Dat had slowed down a lot, and he wasn’t always steady on his feet, so it made perfect sense for him to move downstairs. He’d have his own bathroom, too. But all of this changing around meant even more work for her—carrying his clothes downstairs, not to mention cleaning out the dawdi haus closets where Mamm had stored odds and ends.
“Since Wyman is driving Eddie into Cedar Creek this morning, he can help us shift your furniture,” James mused aloud. “I can ask Noah Coblentz to help, if we need him. There’s not a lot for him to do in the shop today, so we might as well put his younger muscle to work. I say let’s do it!”
Emma clapped her mouth shut. Without Mamm or Abby here, she was outnumbered and outvoted. As she went into the kitchen to figure out what she could serve for dinner to whomever would be working there all day, she heard the front door open. Wyman and Eddie greeted Dat and her brother, their voices low and friendly.
“And gut morning from me as well!” Jerome called out. “Merle, when I heard Eddie would be painting at your place, I came along to help him move furniture so you wouldn’t have to.”
“You’re an answer to a prayer,” her dat replied in a chipper voice. “James and I were just figuring out who would move my things into the dawdi haus, so I pick you!”
Emma seriously considered disappearing into the cellar . . . maybe hiding in a closet so no one would find her. Jerome was the last person she wanted to see today. Why did she sense his appearance was no coincidence—as though he’d been looking for a reason to come and coax her into a better mood? Maybe ask her out on another date?
James clapped Jerome on the back. “You’ve already been a big help to us, what with directing folks where to park for Mamm’s funeral and then working with us to take down tables and chairs after the lunch,” he remarked. “Denki for all your kindness.”
“Your mamm was a special lady,” Jerome replied. “It’s the least I can do.”
Emma gripped the handle on the fridge, blinking back tears. Jerome’s voice had quivered a bit . . . His affection for Mamm had always been sincere, and he had taken on a lot of the physical labor required for the funeral. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Better improve your attitude. Like it or not, you’ll have a houseful of men helping us reshuffle and resettle, all day long.
As she was assessing which casseroles and sides to serve for dinner, Eddie peeked into the kitchen.
“Hey there, Emma,” he said cautiously. “How about if I tape the cabinet edges and prep the kitchen now, and then paint it this afternoon, so you won’t be interrupted while you’re cooking dinner?” he suggested. “Then, if you’ll show me the other room you want done, I could paint that one first.”
Emma gave him a tremulous smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Eddie.”
“It was Jerome’s idea, truth be told.”
Emma caught herself before she overreacted, thank goodness, because then Jerome was peering at her from behind the Brubaker boy.
“It’s gut to see you, Emma,” Jerome said. “You’re most likely exhausted after these past difficult days, so we’ve all agreed to be helpful today without making more work than we’re worth. If you or your dat have chores that need doing, just say the word and I’ll see to them.”
Emma tried to find a smile. “That’s very kind of you,” she murmured. “Eddie, I’ll let you do your taping here in the kitchen while James and I decide on the other room you’ll paint.”
With so many fellows helping, the morning passed quickly and an amazing amount of furniture got moved. Dat seemed as happy as a cat at milking time with his new quarters. Emma did her best to keep coffee and cookies available to their helpers and to stay out of Jerome’s sight while he and Wyman and James did the heavy lifting. When Abby came in for dinner at noon, James whisked her upstairs to the freshly painted guest room they had converted into her new sewing nook.
As Emma was setting plates on the table, she heard Abby’s exclamations of pleasure. Jerome, Wyman, and Dat came into the kitchen to wash up before they ate.
“I understand this is a surprise for the newlyweds, so I’ll speak quickly and quietly,” Wyman said to her. “Amanda’s hoping you can come to Bloomingdale for your quilting frolic next Saturday.”
“That’s the fifth of December,” Jerome clarified. “And my offer to come fetch you and Merle still stands.”
“That would be just dandy!” Dat said as he grabbed for a hand towel. “I can’t wait to play board games with Cora and Dora—and Simon will be there this time.”
“But—but that’s so soon after—oh, I’m just not ready for any socializing.” Emma’s cheeks prickled with heat. She hurried over to pull casserole pans from the oven. Why did these fellows think she’d want to go, go, go? It was enough of a surprise, dealing with all this painting and moving today, let alone figuring to spend next Saturday at the Brubaker place.
Jerome was suddenly at her side, easing the steaming pan of chicken spaghetti from between her hands. His dark hair glimmered and his eyes sparkled as he focused on her. Even after a morning of hefting furniture, he smelled clean and fresh . . . such an enticing scent.
And why are you noticing how gut Jerome smells? It’s Dat who needs your time and attention—Dat you should be thinking of, because he’s going to be so lost without Mamm, once all this company goes home.
“I’m sorry if we’ve upset you, Emma,” Jerome murmured. Then he removed the pans of chili mac and ham with pineapple slices from the oven and set them on the table for her. “We were just passing along Amanda’s suggestion. Think about it as long as you need to.”
She nodded, aware of how considerate Jerome was being today. He was much easier to dislike when he was being his bold, brassy, swaggering self—the sort of man who paraded down the road with an eight-mule hitch, showing them off.
During dinner, Emma concentrated on passing food and filling water glasses—anything to stay busy while the men devoured an astonishing amount of food. Abby seemed tickled about her new lemon yellow sewing room, and about sharing Emma’s parents’ previous bedroom with James, and about living here with Emma and Dat, as though life had opened a lot of unexpected doors for her. She didn’t seem nearly as disappointed that she’d no longer be working at the mercantile, either.
While Emma envied Abby’s ability to rise above sorrow—to see the rainbow rather than the rain—such cheerfulness required too much effort from her right now. What she wouldn’t do for a nap . . . or time to begin the afghan for Abby and James in her cozy room. She’d found a large bin of yarn when she’d cleaned out the dawdi haus closet—enough to get a good start on her project. But she couldn’t sit around crocheting while they had a houseful of company.
As Eddie carried his ladders, paint cans, and rollers into the kitchen, Emma washed the dishes, and Abby dried them before returning to the mercantile for the afternoon. “It feels strange, seeing my shelves empty in the loft over there,” she confided as they finished redding up. “My sewing supplies are all packed, and I’m just waiting for somebody to move my sewing machine over here . . . working on my last order for Sam before I finish being his employee in a few hours.” Abby sighed, shrugging. “But it’s all working out for the best. Do you have any idea when you’ll start working? I can still go over with you and show you how we—”
“Oh, it’s way too soon for that,” Emma protested. “Mamm’s not even been gone a week.”
“And Sam’s already said you won’t be working in the main store while you’re in mourning,” Abby agreed gently. “But whenever you feel up to looking at the ledgers, or bagging up the bulk cereals and baking supplies in the workroom, he’d be pleased to have you start.”
Emma bit back another objection, sensing a different topic of conversation was in order. With all the commotion of moving Dat to his new rooms and dealing with Eddie’s painting, she’d been hit with all the major changes she could handle for one day.
“Well, I’m glad you and James’ll be living here with us,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Are you planning to visit anybody next weekend?” She figured if Abby was going to be home, there was no way she could go to the frolic in Bloomingdale without revealing their quilting secret.
“Jah, we’re venturing over past Queen City,” Abby replied as she hung her dish towel to dry. “Mamm’s cousins there have invited us.”
Emma quelled the urge to sigh. She would have to find another reason to miss the frolic next weekend . . .
No sooner had James accompanied Abby back to the mercantile than Eddie was climbing his ladder and coating the back kitchen wall with bright yellow paint. Wyman and Jerome lingered at the table with Dat, drinking coffee and watching the transformation of the room where the family spent so much of its time.
“I bet Abby’ll whip up some new curtains, and we’ll have us a whole new room,” her father said.
“Jah, I painted Amanda’s house from top to bottom before we Brubakers all moved in there,” Eddie remarked. His roller swished at a quick, even pace. “Fresh paint really does perk a place up—even though none of our rooms are quite this sunny!”
“Amanda’s looking forward to having you two Grabers out for that quilting visit, too,” Jerome chimed in. “She’ll have some of her pottery orders ready by next weekend, so I could bring them when I come for you—”
“I’m not going!” Emma blurted. “I’ll be crocheting an afghan for a wedding gift, so—so you should tell Amanda and the girls to work on their quilts without me. It’s not like they need my help.”
The kitchen rang with silence. The men’s eyes widened, and Eddie stopped painting to look at her, as though she might send him home at any second.
Emma’s shoulders slumped and she swallowed hard. I’ve gone and done it now. I sound like a fussy little girl about to pitch a fit.
Wyman took another cookie from the plate on the table, looking ready to talk Emma out of her decision. Dat, however, had an odd expression on his face. “Got to see a man about a horse,” he mumbled as he headed toward his new rooms.
“Guess I’ll fetch a few things Amanda wants from the mercantile,” Wyman remarked. “I’ll be back by the time you’re finished painting, Eddie.”
“I’ll go, too,” Jerome said as he took his coat from a peg on the wall. “Need some feed supplement for my mule foals.”
Within moments, the house rang with silence. Emma felt awkward hanging around in the kitchen while Eddie worked, so she went upstairs. Her parents’ former bedroom was now arranged with James’s bed on a different wall, and Abby had already changed the sheets and the quilts. And while Abby’s bright yellow sewing room nearly made Emma squint, nothing needed doing in there, either, until the treadle sewing machine came over from the mercantile. Emma had already put fresh sheets on Dat’s bed and tidied his new quarters in the dawdi haus, and James had hung his clothes in the closet.
Emma wandered back downstairs and sat on the chair nearest the woodstove. At last, she had the peace and quiet she’d been craving, but she’d overturned everyone else’s applecart by declaring she couldn’t go to the Brubakers’ any time soon. Was it so wrong to mourn her mother? To allow time for her emotions to emerge, now that everyone else was returning to their normal, everyday lives? Emma wasn’t at all sure what shape her days would take now that Mamm wouldn’t be talking with her and working alongside her as they shared every little task.
Maybe working in the back room at the mercantile wasn’t such a far-flung idea. Doing Sam’s book work and filling bulk food bags sounded a lot more appealing than having to face customers . . .
The front door flew open ahead of Jerome, who held a loaded leather wood carrier in each of his hands. Wyman followed him inside, holding the door for her father, who wore a smug expression.
“We’re all squared away! I just talked with Amanda on the phone,” Dat announced. “She agreed that maybe this next Saturday was too soon, so the quilting frolic is now set for the following weekend, on the twelfth of December. It’ll work out just perfect, because she’ll have the whole set of dishes finished for Abby and James by then, and Jerome can bring them when he comes for us that morning.”
Emma’s mouth fell open. “But—please, Dat,” she pleaded as she watched Jerome stack the firewood. He was smiling brightly. No doubt he was a partner in this little conspiracy. “Sometime soon I’ll—”
“Emma, dear, I know you mean well,” her father interrupted with more spunk than she’d seen in years, “but I’ve got to get myself out amongst cheerful folks who are doing something, or my recliner’s going to swallow me up. I’ll have plenty of time for napping by the fire once the snow’s blowing and it’s too cold to get out.”
Dat gazed at her with unmistakable love, but unshakable authority. “Your mamm would be fussing at us both if we turned into stick-in-the-mud couch potatoes, and you know it, Emma. So that’s that.”