Rosemary Opens Her Heart: Home at Cedar Creek, Book Two (14 page)

Abby reminded herself that James’s social life was his business, yet she suspected
he hadn’t taken anyone out since Zanna had abandoned
him last October. “And your parents are doing all right? Your mamm is usually weeding
her flower beds once it gets this warm.”

“Jah, she and Dat are usually glad to get out of the house, just to sit a spell on
the porch of an afternoon. But they’re saying it’s still too chilly. They don’t have
the energy they did last fall.”

Abby thought about this as she positioned lozenge-shaped purple beads between the
gold ones she’d already glued. “Do you suppose that’s because of all the ruckus Zanna
caused when she didn’t marry you?” she asked quietly. “I know it would’ve been a big
change for them, having her in the house, but—”

“I suspect you’re right about that, Abby.” He looked up from his work. “Mamm was one
for fussing at Zanna and pointing out her faults, yet she and Dat were excited about
having some grandchildren right here at home, too. They don’t get to see Iva and Sharon’s
kids much, what with them living on the other side of Queen City.”

Once again Abby was reminded of the repercussions of Zanna’s walking away from her
marriage into the Graber family. She also told herself not to get her hopes up after
years of wishing this fine man would notice her, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying
every moment she spent with him.

“Looks like the mailman just pulled away,” James said as he glanced out the window.
“I’ll be right back. It’s Saturday, and Dat likes to look at the
Budget
as soon as it arrives. He reads your piece first, you know.”

As Cedar Creek’s scribe for the national Plain newspaper, Abby wrote a weekly report
of the local goings-on, usually with a few reflections on them. “Take your time, James.
Tell your folks hello for me.”

“I’ll do that. Kind of you to think of them.” James put on his straw hat and strode
out toward the road.

As Abby went around to the other side of the carriage to work, she glanced outside.
James stood at the mailbox, thumbing through the mail: his broad shoulders were accentuated
by the suspenders
that crisscrossed the back of his shirt…a shirt she had sewn because Emma kept so
busy with housework and looking after their parents that James had chosen to pay Abby
to make his family’s clothes. He opened a large white envelope. As he was reading,
his expression suggested news of a totally unexpected nature. He looked toward the
shop as though he were gazing right at her and flashed a dazzling smile.

“Here’s your mail, Dat,” he called as he jogged toward his family’s front porch. “I’ll
be in after Abby and I finish this carriage. Won’t be but a few minutes.”

Merle leaned out over the porch railing to take the paper from his son. “If it were
me and I had a perty young woman in my shop, I’d not be in any hurry to come home,”
he teased. “Go out and have a gut time, son. You know how it goes on a Saturday night—your
mamm’ll be readin’ me reports and recipes from the
Budget
whether I wanna hear them or not.”

Abby arranged a few more beads on the carriage door, thinking most folks around town
would also be reading the
Budget
tonight…although she could imagine Eunice’s reedy voice getting louder and more piercing
as the evening wore on, to keep Merle from nodding off in his recliner.

When James hurried back into the shop, his eyes were wide. “What do you make of
this
?” he asked in an excited voice. “You remember that white princess carriage I made
last fall?”

“The one where I sewed the beads on the seat cushion? Jah, that was a mighty pretty
coach—and there it is!” She pointed to the magazine page he was waving, and he held
it still enough for her to read. “‘In Praise of Plain Craftsmanship.’ Now, isn’t that
a fine title? And it looks like you had quite a princess riding in your coach, too.”

“Jah, I’m not sure what all being Miss America means,” he said in a rush, “but when
she heard that an Amish fellow had made the carriage she rode in a Disney World parade,
she really talked it up. So here it is—my carriage—in a magazine, no less! Although,”
he
added, “I’m sounding mighty proud of my work now. And that’s not so gut.”

Abby gazed at the photograph, which featured the open white carriage in semidarkness,
with its canopy grid of sparkly white lights. A young woman stood alongside the impressive
Clydesdale it was hitched to. Her hair was swept up and she was wearing a sequined
dress of morning-glory blue. The banner draped from her shoulder read
MISS AMERICA
.

“There’s nothing wrong with a job well done, James,” she reminded him. “And the article
doesn’t single you out so much as it draws attention to the craftsmanship we Amish
believe in. When you consider all the cars and computers and other fancy items manufactured
in English factories,” she went on in a thoughtful tone, “isn’t it nice that those
same folks recognize the careful work Plain people do with their hands, in shops that
sit right alongside their homes?”

James blinked. “Jah, it is. And denki for the way you pointed that out, Abby. You
have such a talent for making folks feel gut about what they do and who they are.”

Her face went hot. Abby focused on placing the last green beads around the edge of
the bright design. “You say the nicest things, James.”

It didn’t take her long to finish the insets. Meanwhile, James was inserting huge
green and purple feathers into short pipes he’d welded along the sides of the Mardi
Gras masks that decorated both ends of the carriage. Abby studied the front mask when
he finished it. “I can’t figure out what all of this means, or why folks would want
such a gaudy carriage, but…well, I guess it takes all kinds.”

James looked up from inserting the last feather. “You’re not backing out of our ride,
I hope?”

“No, no. We have to maintain that quality craftsmanship the magazine article talked
about, don’t we?” she teased. As Abby dropped the leftover beads back into their box,
she felt giddy yet
almost shy. “I’ll go pack our picnic now. See you whenever you’re ready.”

“Give me about half an hour to check on the folks and clean up.”

Was it her imagination, or did James look every bit as excited as she was? Did he
consider this a first date, or was that wishful thinking on her part? Abby decided
to stop analyzing so she could enjoy the evening’s ride, no matter what they called
it. After all, a dream she’d clung to for the past several years was about to come
true.

As James hitched Mitch, his bay gelding, to the finished Mardi Gras carriage, his
hands trembled. That hadn’t happened since early in his courtship with Zanna, yet
this date with her older sister gave him an entirely different feeling. While Abby’s
personal life wasn’t an open book, James had no doubt about the woman he was riding
with this evening. He knew of no one he respected more. While Bishop Vernon Gingerich
and the preachers Paul Bontrager and Abe Nissley were esteemed leaders of the Plain
community hereabouts, Abby had a kindness and a decency that he also admired greatly.
He had always liked Abby a lot—had always appreciated her bright mind and her sunny
disposition.

So why didn’t Abby’s finer traits seem relevant while you were courting her sister?
Too carried away by Zanna’s pretty face and blond hair? Her carefree giggle…and her
kisses?

Would he kiss Abby tonight? James gazed across the road toward the small white house
that sat a ways up Lambright Lane. What if he did kiss her and she wasn’t ready for
that? Or what if she didn’t like the way he kissed? Or what if he didn’t kiss her
and then felt her disappointment stabbing him in the back as he started for home?

He’d forgotten how jittery first dates could be—and who would’ve thought an evening
with Abby Lambright would make him nervous? James laughed at himself and vaulted into
the seat of the colorful carriage. It wasn’t dark yet. He wanted to save the best
surprises for later, so he didn’t flip any of the switches on the dashboard panel.

“Geddap, Mitch,” he said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Down Lambright Lane his horse trotted, and as he passed Sam’s farmhouse he waved at
the folks who were peering out the kitchen door. Abby stepped off her narrow front
porch, holding a picnic hamper, gazing at the carriage and then at him. He hopped
down, placed the basket on the floor behind the seat, and then gave Abby his hand
as she ascended the wrought-iron steps. She had changed into a magenta dress and her
freshly pressed kapp set off a face he’d known all his life and yet…she looked like
someone he’d never met but certainly wanted to.

“Ready?” he whispered.

“Jah.” She looked at the open carriage’s unlit canopy made of tiny light bulbs, running
her hand over the rich red leather seat. “Who would ever have thought I’d be riding
in such a flashy vehicle—and seated beside a man whose work was featured in a magazine,
no less?”

James clapped the reins against the bay’s back. “We haven’t yet begun to flash,” he
teased. “The carriage has headlights and taillights to be legal, but there’ll be no
danger of anyone running into us tonight. We’ll be lit up like a carnival ride.”

As he again passed the Lambright house, James felt like a teenager on his first date:
Sam, Barbara, their four kids, and Treva had all come out onto the front porch and
were gawking at them. “That’s my sister with you, Graber,” Sam called as he waved
at them. “Behave yourselves, hear me?”

“When do the lights come on?” Ruthie asked.

“Owen and I will be out later, watching for a carriage lit up like a circus,” Phoebe
called out. “We’ll be able to see every single thing you’re doing, you know!”

Abby’s face turned pink. “You’d think I was sixteen, just entering my rumspringa,”
she murmured.

James checked for traffic at the end of the lane and then said, “Gee!” The horse turned
right and trotted smartly past the phone shanty, the Cedar Creek Mercantile, and Treva’s
Greenhouse. He relaxed then, looking over at her. “Truth be told, I’m happy you’re
not sixteen. We’ve both made something of ourselves, but we’ve also become involved
in our community and committed to our faith—and to our families—in ways kids just
out of school have no idea about.”

“Jah, we have. But I’d like to think you and I can be comfortable talking about what
we need…what matters most to us,” Abby replied. “And I hope we’ll still be gut friends
if it turns out we’ve got different priorities.”

“I’m with you there, but this seems like awfully serious talk for a first date. How
about if we just cut loose and have some fun?”

“I thought you’d never get to that part!” Her brown eyes sparkled. “Do you remember
that sleigh ride years ago, when we raced the Ropp brothers across Sam’s pasture?
I want to go that fast again—except this time, no one will turn over, all right?”

James clapped the reins lightly on his horse’s back. “It wasn’t my fault Jonny dumped
himself and Gideon on that snowy hillside,” he reminded her. “But it was
you
telling me to go faster and faster. When we reach the next straightaway, I’ll give
Mitch his head. I have to see how the carriage handles under all kinds of conditions,
after all. At the very least it has to keep up with a spirited horse.”

Abby’s mischievous grin made his insides flutter, and—as had happened on that wintry
day when Jonny Ropp had dared him to race—James delighted in her challenge for more
speed. When he saw there were no cars on the road, he urged Mitch into a faster trot…a
canter…a gallop. With one hand Abby held the strings of her kapp to keep it from flying
off as she gripped the seat with the other. She was leaning into the wind, her face
alight with a giddy happiness that James hoped he could put there again and again.
He dropped his hat to the floor, relishing the sense of freedom he always
felt when his favorite horse and his latest carriage went flying down the highway
as one.

For about half a mile they clattered down the blacktop, until the distinctive stone
silo on Vernon Gingerich’s corner marked the intersection where he wanted to turn.
He eased Mitch back to normal road speed. “Still got stomach enough to enjoy our picnic?”
he teased as they headed west onto the gravel road. “I’ve got a spot in mind alongside
Cedar Creek, where the redbuds are at their peak.”

“Puh! You think
that
little run scared me?” Abby elbowed him playfully. “I loved riding the Tilt-a-Whirl
and the roller coaster at the county fair when we were kids, you know.”

James recalled those carnival rides and suddenly felt the same swooping surge of speed
and force, as though his stomach had leaped off a cliff. It had been years since those
rare summer nights when their parents had bought them cotton candy and tokens for
the rides, before their dats had watched the livestock judging and their mamms had
fingered the quilts and looked at the vegetables entered for prizes. But indeed, he
recalled Abby Lambright’s face all aglow—the way she’d laughed hysterically, carried
away by the exhilaration of the fastest rides and the scariest roller coasters on
the midway.

“Maybe I should ask if you can endure a peaceful meal beside the creek,” he said.
“I don’t want to bore you, after all.”

As he pulled the carriage into a clearing, Abby smiled. “I can’t recall a single moment
when I felt bored while I was with you, James.”

Wasn’t it just like her to say that? As James helped her down from the carriage, he
realized yet again that while she loved a fast ride, Abby was the embodiment of Plain
womanhood—simple and kind and caring…not to mention a fine cook. After they bowed
for a silent grace, they feasted on ham and coleslaw, with fresh bread and glazed
carrots kept warm in a crockery bowl. As they sat on the old quilt she’d spread on
the creek bank, with the sunset peeking between the cedars and the redbud trees, James
couldn’t recall enjoying
a meal so much. It was a far cry from hearing his mamm fuss at Dat for dribbling gravy
on his shirt while watching Emma grow weary after another day of caring for them.
Little pink petals from the redbuds drifted on the wind, landing on Abby’s kapp and
her cape dress like confetti from heaven.