Emma finished the border on the afghan she was crocheting for James and Abby and folded it on the sofa with a great sense of satisfaction. She sensed the newlyweds would love cuddling together beneath this coverlet of red, blue, purple, and green as much as she had enjoyed working with such bold colors. With a glance at Dat, who had drifted off in his recliner, she went into the kitchen to stir the pot of vegetable beef soup she was making for their noonday meal. As she looked out the window, Emma thought how bleak and gray this winter morning looked—until a buggy pulled around the carriage shop and up beside the house.
Her heart fluttered. She knew of only one fellow who hitched his rig to a black Percheron mule.
As Emma fetched her coat from the peg beside the door, she glanced into the front room. Dat was still snoozing beneath the copy of the Budget he’d been reading. Grinning from ear to ear, she hurried out through the kitchen’s back door. “Jerome! What a fine surprise!” she said as she slipped into her coat.
His face lit up. “Emma, it’s gut to see you. I’ve been out looking for our Pete—”
“He’s not come home yet?” Emma’s smile faded. She stopped a few feet in front of Jerome, noting the concern etched around his dark eyes. “Wyman and Amanda must be beside themselves.”
“Jah, my aunt’s been calling the folks around Bloomingdale since he went missing yesterday, and Wyman and I have been out looking again this morning,” he replied. Then his handsome face eased into a smile. “But I was also hoping to spend some time with you, Emma. I—I’ve missed you this week.”
“Oh my,” she murmured as her pulse sped up. “I keep thinking about our sleigh ride—”
“Jah, me, too,” Jerome interrupted as he grabbed her hands. “And I’ve almost called you a dozen times—”
“And I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea when I didn’t kiss you gut night,” Emma continued in a rush.
“But I didn’t want James or Sam or anybody but you to hear my message,” Jerome went on in a breathy voice. Then he laughed, rubbing her bare hands between his gloved ones. “Seems we’ve both been saving up what we wanted to say, and it’s all rushing out at once. So . . . you weren’t upset because I wanted a kiss too soon? Or because I didn’t stop on my way home from escorting the Wengerds back to Queen City?”
Emma pressed her lips into a line. All the frustrating circumstances he’d mentioned seemed petty now that he’d surprised her with a visit. “Well, I did wonder if you didn’t stop because you were . . . disappointed in me.”
“Oh, Emmie-girl, how could I be disappointed in you?” Jerome wrapped his arms around her and swayed her from side to side before loosening his hold. “And yet here I go again, getting too close for your comfort, maybe.”
Emma gazed up into his shining eyes. Emmie-girl he’d called her—a nickname only Dat and James had ever used, but it sounded particularly nice when Jerome said it. “Well,” she said as her cheeks got hot, “if any of the fellows in James’s shop happen to be looking out, we’re giving them quite an eyeful, ain’t so? How about some coffee? And we’ve got fried pies and lemon bars and—”
“Say no more! I love your lemon bars.”
When Jerome kept hold of her hand as they headed back to the house, Emma wasn’t sure her feet were touching the ground. She’d felt restless these past couple of days since Sam and Vernon had insisted she work at home, yet now she was glad she’d been here when Jerome pulled in. “Dat’s been napping,” she murmured as they entered the kitchen. “He’ll be real glad to see you.”
“Before we rouse him, maybe I’ll just stand here sniffing whatever smells so gut,” Jerome replied. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Soup with beef in it, jah?”
Emma chuckled at his ecstatic expression. “There’s plenty for you, if you care to stay. Abby and James usually come home for dinner around twelve fifteen.”
“Denki, but I told Amanda I’d get back with a few odds and ends she wanted from the mercantile.” He opened his eyes and held her gaze. “So, do you miss working at the store, Emma? It’s a shame Sam and Vernon made you quit, if you enjoyed what you were doing.”
Emma hung up their coats and went to the stove to stir the soup. “I’m still doing the work I like the most—the bookkeeping—and it’s better for Dat if I’m home now that Abby’s helping Sam through the Christmas season. And truth be told, I was getting . . . crabbier than I realized.” She stopped there, as Jerome didn’t need to hear about the hissy fit she’d pitched about using Amanda’s dishes rather than Mamm’s.
“You were tired when you came to our place last weekend,” Jerome agreed as he came to stand beside her. “I suspect none of us realize how much effort goes into running that store, because Sam and Abby just do it without any apparent effort. Starting any new job takes a lot of energy until you’re used to it.”
“Denki for understanding that,” Emma murmured. She removed the snap-on top from the pan of goodies on the counter. When she gave Jerome a lemon bar, he took hold of her hand to guide the treat to his mouth.
He held her gaze as Emma held her breath. Standing this close to Jerome felt even more exhilarating than when she’d been sitting beneath the quilts with him in the sleigh. As he bit into the lemon bar and chewed, his smile delighted her.
“While I was all for you working in Sam’s store if you wanted to,” Jerome murmured, “I’m old-fashioned enough to like it better that you’re home again. It takes a lot of effort to keep a household running smoothly, too, and you’ve always made that seem effortless.”
Emma’s brows rose. “I’d never call you old-fashioned, Jerome,” she protested, but then he put the unbitten side of the lemon bar to her lips. She took a bite, wondering where he was leading her with this quiet conversation . . . these unexpectedly intimate gestures.
“Isn’t this nice? Just the two of us in the kitchen?” he asked as she chewed. “It’s cozy here. Real homey. And it reminds me that while I tend to run off at the mouth and look before I leap—like when I almost spent a couple thousand bucks on a wedding gift—you go on quietly about your tasks with such a sense of purpose. When I’m with you, Emma, I feel so much more grounded and—and—”
Jerome stopped midsentence, lowering his lips toward hers.
Behind them, Dat chuckled. “Are my old eyes fooling me, or is Jerome Lambright standing at the stove with my daughter?”
Emma jumped away from Jerome. She’d been this close to kissing him, should’ve realized that Dat might interrupt them.
But Jerome didn’t seem the least bit flustered. He turned to offer the cookie container to her father. “Merle, it’s gut to see you,” he said with a chuckle. “You’d better have some of these lemon bars before I eat every last one of them.”
“I’m more in the mood for dunking some of Emma’s gingersnaps in a mug of coffee,” he replied as he took a seat at the kitchen table. “She bakes them nice and crisp so they’ll hold together.”
Jerome winked at Emma and joined her dat, placing the cookie pan on the table between them. His confident grin belonged to the fellow she’d been running from a few weeks ago, yet he’d mellowed. Even though Dat had startled her at the wrong moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to set mugs on the table for him and Jerome and to pour them fresh coffee from the percolator. Cozy and homey, like Jerome said earlier. It’s lucky for me that the two of them are gut friends.
Emma stirred the soup again while Jerome brought her father up to date about Pete’s situation. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this visit from Jerome, yet he was making her feel very special.
“Could be Pete doesn’t want to be found,” Dat remarked as he took a handful of gingersnaps. “And if the job he mentioned in his note didn’t pan out, he could be hiding in barns or any number of places, not all that far away.”
Emma turned toward them, frowning. “But how would he eat? And stay warm on these cold nights?” she asked.
Jerome chose another lemon bar. “Pete left in the night, while everyone else was asleep, so he might’ve packed along some food.”
“You’d think folks would notice an extra horse in their barn, though,” Dat remarked matter-of-factly. “I’m betting Wyman gets word of him before the weekend’s past. Pete’ll either slip up and somebody’ll catch him, or he’ll head on back to Bloomingdale when he’s tired of hiding. Then again,” Dat added, “Pete might be miles away by now, with no intention of going home. A Bontrager kid I grew up with ran off like that.”
Emma blinked. For all her thoughts of how Dat might be losing touch, he was making astute observations—as he always seemed to do when he was with Jerome. It was too soon to be seriously thinking of marriage, yet the benefits of spending more time with Jerome seemed to be adding up for both her and her father. At least she didn’t feel like running in the other direction when he flirted with her now.
Emma lowered the flame under the soup pot. While the men kept chatting, she went into the front room to fetch the afghan she’d finished. When she paused in the kitchen doorway with the coverlet made of blue, red, purple, and deep green granny squares, Jerome’s expression made Emma hold her breath.
“And what’ve you got here?” he asked as he rose from the table. “The way those bold colors are held together with black reminds me of stained-glass windows you see in old churches. May I take a better look?”
Emma’s heart danced. She had hoped Jerome would like her afghan, but she hadn’t anticipated the intensity of his interest as he unfolded it so they could hold it between them. “I’ve been crocheting this for Abby and James’s wedding gift—which has been a lot easier now that she’s working in the store again,” Emma added.
“And they’ll love it.” Jerome held her gaze for a moment. “Here’s another reason I’m glad we didn’t buy something on our shopping trip,” he continued. “Nothing in the stores compares to this beautiful gift you’ve made with your own hands, Emma. See there? You might’ve been hurrying past all the stuff I wanted to look at, but you were right about what Abby and James would rather receive.”
Emma blinked. Jerome had just put a new spin on their awkward shopping trip. His difference in perspective made her feel better about that day, and it also cast a new light on his personality. Whereas she’d once considered him flashy and overconfident, Emma now saw a fellow who was trying to improve her perception of herself . . . a man who appreciated her quiet, reserved temperament.
After Jerome finished his coffee, he put on his coat, blowing Emma a kiss as he went outside to his rig.
“The more I’m around that fellow, the more I like him,” Dat said. “I’m glad Jerome’s in it for the long haul and not giving up on you.”
Emma smiled to herself as she tucked the afghan into a trunk so Abby and James wouldn’t see it. Once again Dat was spot-on with his observations—and she, too, was thinking Jerome’s visit had done them both a world of good.
* * *
After they’d eaten their noon meal and Abby and James had returned to work, Emma pawed through her bin of yarn. Over the years, she and Mamm had crocheted several projects, so surely she could do something useful with these partial skeins, especially now that Jerome had shown such an interest in her handiwork. When she unfolded the yellowed instruction sheet Mamm had used to make stocking caps for James and Dat, Emma felt as though she’d found buried treasure.
The perfect gift idea! Dat’s poor old cap is hardly fit to wear to the barn.
Soon she was settled on the sofa with her feet up, forming row after circular row in navy blue—almost as though Mamm were sitting with her, passing a winter’s afternoon beside the woodstove. By the time Abby came home at the end of the day, Emma was finishing off the final row of the cap.
“What do you think?” she asked as she held it up. “Dat needs a new hat for these cold days, and I thought James could use one, too.”
Abby took the hat between her hands, looking it over. “You’ve crocheted all this since dinner? You’ve got flying fingers, Emma!”
“It’s a simple pattern,” she pointed out. “Doesn’t take much thought—”
“And it would make a gut gift for Jerome, too, ain’t so?” Abby asked with a knowing grin. Then her eyes widened. “What if you were to make some of these in kids’ colors to sell in the store? Folks would snap them up.”
Emma’s eyebrows rose. It would be a nice change of pace to work with brighter colors. “Well,” she hedged, “if nobody buys my hats, I can always donate them to the mud auction next spring—”
“Ach, but you’re silly sometimes,” Abby teased. “Haven’t you noticed what English kids—even girls Gail’s age—are wearing these days? Bright colored parkas with caps like these. Some of them have earflaps with braided pigtails on the ends, and some even have animal faces or big flowers on them. We’ve got patterns for those in the store. What do you think?”
“I think I’ll make a quick trip to the mercantile!” Emma replied. “I need to fetch Sam’s receipts for the week anyway, and crocheting hats will give me something to do while you and James go to Breckenridge for the weekend.”
Emma slipped into her coat and bonnet and crossed the snow-packed road. The mercantile’s parking lot was jammed with cars and buggies, and when she stepped inside the store, she was amazed at the number of folks who’d come to Cedar Creek to shop. As she made her way toward the yard goods section, Emma paid close attention to what the kids and teenagers were wearing on their heads. To her surprise, even a few young men sported the kind of knitted hats with earflaps and pigtails that Abby had mentioned—and none of the caps were in the dark, dull colors that filled her yarn bin.
Emma found an instruction booklet for earflap caps that included a couple of other styles as well. What a treat it was to shop for yarn in such fresh colors! The basket on her arm was soon stuffed with variegated and solid skeins in neon pink, lime green, aqua, lavender, and bright white. She hoped Abby was right about people wanting her homemade hats, because she’d have to sell several of them to earn back what she’d be spending.
“You’ve got quite a collection of colors here!” Gail remarked as she rang up Emma’s order. “I bet I know what you’ll be doing this weekend.”
“Jah, you guessed it,” Emma replied. She didn’t want to reveal her plans for these flashy colors, because everyone who crocheted had met up with patterns that didn’t turn out the way they looked in the pictures. Even so, just imagining the different styles of hats she wanted to try made her itch to start one right now, instead of eating supper. And wasn’t that something!
* * *
When Abby and James stepped into the house early Sunday afternoon, after the threat of snow shortened their visit with cousins in Breckenridge, Abby felt a difference in the atmosphere. Although the skies were clouded over, Emma was humming while she took a rectangular pan of chocolate cake from the oven. A pot of heavenly smelling potato soup simmered on the stove. Merle was poring over the latest issue of the Budget at the kitchen table, reading snippets to Emma just as he’d once done with Eunice.
“This is a cozy scene,” James remarked as he hung up his coat. “What-all went on while Abby and I were away?”
“You didn’t miss a thing,” Merle insisted.
Emma’s lips twitched with a secretive grin. “You’ll find out when you go upstairs to unpack.”
Abby nearly asked if Jerome had stopped by again, but Merle would have mentioned that. “I’m headed that way right now, and then I’ll be down to help with dinner. Whatever you’ve got in the oven smells awfully gut.”
“I’ll be right behind you, Abby-girl, so don’t go hefting that box,” James said as he clapped his dat on the back. “The Graber cousins send their best—and they gave us enough linens to last the rest of our lives, I think. Sheets, kitchen towels, and even a quilt they said your mamm made years ago, Dat. They found it in a trunk and wanted you to have it.”
The catlike expression on Emma’s face sent Abby upstairs while James and his father took a look at the old quilt. During the ride to and from their visit, Abby had wondered if Emma’s fingers had been flying with her crochet hook, and the display on the bed made her gasp with surprise. Not only were four girls’ hats laid out, but a large afghan with a wedding card on it was there as well.
Wishing you happiness for your life together, Abby and James. Denki for all you do for us, and for the way you encourage me. Much love, Emma.
“Ohhh,” Abby murmured as she unfolded the afghan. As she studied the intricate argyle pattern in red, blue, purple, green, and black, she realized that some of the squares were solid and some were half one color and half another—forming two triangles within the square—arranged to make the overall pattern. It had taken some time and Emma’s close attention to make the design come out right.
The girls’ hats made Abby giggle as she held them up. One was lavender with a big white flower and lime green leaves, while another was striped with alternating bands of variegated and solid aqua. The other two caps had earflaps—a bright pink one with a pig’s face on top and a white one with a lamb’s face. Abby popped those two over her hands like puppets and hurried back down to the kitchen.
“Emma, these are too cute!” she exclaimed. “I’ll take all of your hats to the store tomorrow, and I’m guessing these two with the faces will be gone before the day ends.”
“Oh, Abby, sometimes you carry on—”
“I’m not kidding! We’ve got nothing like this in the store!”
“I did have great fun making them,” Emma admitted. “I’ll crochet more if you want them, maybe an aqua donkey and another pig. That one’s the funniest.”
Abby hugged her best friend tight. “Denki so much for the beautiful afghan, too,” she murmured. “I’ve not seen that pattern anywhere, and the colors are so bold. I’m glad we’re sisters now, Emma. You and your dat have made me feel so at home here.”
Emma eased away from her embrace but kept her hands on Abby’s shoulders. “Sometime soon let’s pack away Mamm’s old dishes and put the ones Amanda made you in the kitchen cupboards,” she said. “It would be a shame to keep them boxed up, pretty as they are. I’m sorry I got so upset about them the other night.”
Abby sucked in her breath. “Oh, Emma, are you sure?”
“Jah. Let’s do it.” Emma’s hazel eyes glowed as she returned Abby’s gaze. “Crocheting those hats was a great idea. While I worked, it was almost like Mamm was sitting beside me. I feel a lot better now—like I’m moving forward. What would I do without you, Abby?”
What a lovely sentiment, one she didn’t want to diminish by replying with a snappy answer. Abby glanced toward the stove and the counter. “Chocolate cake and potato soup—treats that make a wintry night special. I can’t wait to dig in!”
Emma reached for a long knife and went to the counter. “Actually, it’s dark chocolate fruitcake bars, with candied cherries and nuts and coconut. I thought it was time we enjoyed some Christmas goodies.”
Abby snatched the first bar that came out of the pan. The mouthful of warm, chewy goodness felt like the beginning of a much happier holiday than she’d anticipated after Eunice passed away. And for that she was very grateful.