Rosemary Opens Her Heart: Home at Cedar Creek, Book Two (18 page)

“So what’s your response?” The bishop handed James the plate of banana bread as Abby
poured three cups of fragrant orange-spice tea for them.

“I’ll answer the calls in the order I got them, with a calendar at hand,” James replied
firmly. “I’ll figure out how much time to allow for the special detailing of each
rig—and if a customer can’t wait that long, I’ll decline the order.” He shrugged.
“It’s all I can do. I can’t rush Noah’s apprenticeship, and I have to figure Perry
and Leon—and Emma and my parents—might need my time along the way.”

“There are only so many bricks a man can make,” Vernon agreed. “And you probably realize
that those who interview you might want photographs and that such attention in worldly
publications will distract you from doing your best work with your God-given skills.
Not to mention inviting pride into your life.”

James sank his teeth into the moist, sweet banana bread, glad he’d come to confer
with Vernon. “For craftsmen, pride is a tightrope we walk when we become gut at what
we do. I’ll call those reporters and tell them it goes against our Plain principles
to talk to them.”

“Or,” Abby chimed in, “if there’s a way to serve God by lifting up our Amish values—maybe
to talk about the other craftsmen in Cedar Creek and the other home-based businesses
our families run.”

“That would take the spotlight off James and benefit other members.” The bishop nodded,
his curly gray beard brushing the front of his shirt. “Seems to me if you chose
one
of those reporters and requested the interview questions ahead of time—with the understanding
that you and I would choose which ones to answer—we could work this out to the common
gut.”

“And I, for one, would enjoy listening to the interview!” Abby’s eyes shone over the
top of her teacup. “James is a fine man to speak to our beliefs and practices. If
he sat in the doorway and spoke out toward us, anybody who wanted to gather around
the phone shanty could follow along.”

“That would be a first for Cedar Creek,” James replied. Abby’s idea impressed and
inspired him: limiting himself to a single interview solved a lot of problems that
might arise from appearing in a magazine.

“We’ve settled it, then.” Vernon polished off his banana bread and drank deeply of
his tea. “Wherever two or more are gathered, we draw upon the Lord’s power to accomplish
His will here on earth. And that’s always better than going it alone, thinking we
humans can set the proper limits and avoid worldly temptations.”

After the three of them chatted briefly about Preacher Paul’s funeral service, James
stepped outside with Abby, into the twilight. A pink glow hovered at the horizon where
the sun had just set, and while the temperature had dropped, the evening was still
pleasant. As Mitch trotted down the bishop’s lane, they waved to Vernon, who watched
them from the doorway of his rustic stone home. Once they were clip-clopping along
the blacktop, James gazed at the woman beside him.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” he said lightly, “but you were absolutely right
about taking this matter to the bishop. It all worked out so much better than if I’d
tried to manage these orders and interviews by myself.”

“You would have figured it out, James,” Abby replied. “But other folks from Cedar
Creek will want to share your success and listen to the interview. If there’s anything
else you need help with, you know whom to ask.”

Abby’s laughter rang around them. Her eyes told him she was hoping for the kiss he’d
promised her last night. He was ready to hug her close and—

For a fleeting moment, it was Zanna flirting with him, teasing him with her carefree
mirth and her flawless face until he couldn’t help but love her. His stomach clenched
as he recalled how that love had ended.

James faltered. His imagination had played a cruel trick on him
just now, and he could
not
tell Abby her sister’s image had come between them. The two Lambright girls barely
resembled each other—Abby had Sam’s darker hair and brows while Zanna was a blonde
like Phoebe, Gail, and Ruthie—yet they shared mannerisms. A certain arch of their
brows…a pattern to their laughter. Just enough to pinch him with the memory of his
intended bride’s betrayal, even though he thought he’d gotten past it.

So James let the romantic moment pass. He focused on the road again, recalling how
he and Abby had sped along this straightaway in the Mardi Gras carriage last night,
laughing and having fun together. He could feel Abby’s bewilderment as surely as the
evening seemed chillier now as the sun went down. He had just disappointed both of
them.

“It’s gut you have the patience of a saint, Abby,” he murmured. “You might need it
while I work my way through these next several weeks, figuring out my schedule.”

Abby’s face fell. She tugged her shawl around her shoulders, looking away. “Jah. I
just might.”

L
ater that evening, Abby brushed out her hair and then sat on her bed with her writing
tablet. It was time to send in her weekly letter for the
Budget
, the national newspaper for Plain folks. But how could she write, considering her
excruciating disappointment? She had seen a kiss written all over James’s face, but
he’d stopped short. All through school she’d loved him…had discouraged other fellows’
attention, knowing they would never measure up. For
years
she’d waited for him to return her affection, and after the fine time they’d shared
the previous evening in his Mardi Gras carriage, she’d believed her chance had come
at last.

How much longer could she be as patient as James claimed she was? It wasn’t as if
she or James had never kissed anyone. Why had he changed his mind? Was he wary of
taking up with her after her sister had betrayed him, even though he’d claimed he
was ready to move on? Or had she seemed too eager to tell James how he should live
his life and set his business priorities?

Abby wiped away her tears. She reminded herself that she was secure in her little
home, with her Stitch in Time business to support herself…But still her heart ached.
It was sure to be a long, dark
night of soul-searching, and she needed her rest for a full day of making a comforter
and curtains for a customer tomorrow. Stewing over her crushed feelings wouldn’t get
her column written, either. Abby picked up her pencil and began with the community’s
most obvious news.

Someone pounded on her front door. Abby set aside her tablet and slipped into the
robe that hung on the back of her bedroom door. Surely James wouldn’t be knocking
this late, coming to make amends. And if he was, well, her hair was down and no proper
unmarried Amish woman kept company with a fellow in her nightgown. But when Abby peered
out the window beside her door, she saw a familiar figure in a white kapp and a gray
shawl. “Emma! What brings you over at this hour?” she asked as she swung open the
door.

Her best friend stepped inside, pressing a small covered container into Abby’s hands.
“Finally got the folks off to bed, and when James came in, scowling and refusing to
say what had happened with you this evening, I was just too peeved to stay home,”
she replied. “Between my brother and Matt—the way they’ve both acted today—I’m ready
to give up on men altogether! Aren’t you?”

Abby lifted the container’s lid. While she and Emma had shared secrets since they
were girls, she wasn’t ready to elaborate on what had—or had not—gone on between her
and James. “Lemon bars? When did you have time to bake these?”

“I made an extra batch when I was getting ready for today’s common meal. And after
Matt told me not to bother making him any
more brownies, why—” Emma’s breath came out in a huff. “Lemon bars are a treat I can
share with
you
, Abby. I know you’ll be my friend, no matter what.”

“Come sit down. Treats like these deserve a gut cup of tea while you tell me what’s
happened.” Abby led the way into the kitchen and lit the lamp on the wall. She put
on the teakettle, noting how Emma’s eyes were as puffy as her own and how she seemed
too agitated to sit at the small table by the back window. They made quite a pair.
Misery loved company.

“Matt told me he didn’t want to be
cruel
,” Emma said with an edge in her voice. “Didn’t come out and admit it, but he’s head
over heels for that widow, Rosemary.
Isn’t
he?”

Abby reached for the tea bags, hoping to console her friend. But there was no way
around it: the truth wasn’t going to make Emma feel any better. “It was one of those
unexplainable things,” she murmured. “Matt laid eyes on Rosemary and he’s thought
of little else since then. I’m sorry it happened this way, Emma. I don’t know what
else to tell you.” She carried two steaming cups of water to the table and then dropped
in the tea bags.

“But, Abby, what’ll I do now? He…well, Matt’s the only fella I’ve ever been seriously
interested in.”

As Emma slumped in a chair, Abby squeezed her shaking shoulders. What with getting
her parents ready for church and spending the day at the Yutzy home, Emma may not
have had a chance earlier to deal with her hurt feelings. “Maybe it’s best to have
a gut cry about it and then leave it be, Emma,” Abby suggested. “Time to get Matt
off your mind and move on to somebody else.”

Easy for you to say. Could you take your own advice if James told you he didn’t want
to see you anymore?
Abby sat down next to Emma and dunked her tea bag again and again, not wanting to
think about that.

The tear streaks on Emma’s face, shining in the lamplight, accentuated her dejection.
“It’s not like fellas’ll line up to court me, knowing how snappish Mamm gets and how
Dat is losing track of
his thoughts from one minute to the next. And I—I really don’t want to end up alone,
Abby. I’ve always wanted a family…a husband to love.”

Ah, but Abby knew the heartache of a maidel’s singular life—except she’d been blessed
with several options. Her Stitch in Time business and this cozy home had put her in
a better position for a fulfilling future. Abby picked up a lemon bar. “Oh my,” she
whispered as the tart-sweet filling spread over her tongue. “It’s been a long while
since I had one of these, and yours are the best, Emma.”

“And what gut does that do me? Who else besides you and the folks will ever know how
they taste?” Emma pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “They’re James’s
favorite, too—and what’s
his
problem now? He was whistling last night after your ride, yet he came home this evening
looking like a whipped dog.”

Abby crammed the rest of the lemon bar into her mouth and took a long sip of her tea.
Emma’s problem was far more serious than her own, yet there was no getting around
the question. “He’s gotten a lot of calls this weekend from folks wanting more of
those specialty rigs than he can make—”

“Puh! The look on his face was not about carriages, Abby.” Emma gazed at her in the
dimness, expecting an answer.

“All right, then. He was ready to kiss me last night—told me so, even—but the girls
were watching out their bedroom window, so…” Abby sighed. “Just when it seemed he
was going to carry through on our way home from Vernon’s this evening, he changed
his mind. I have no idea why.”

“Well, if that isn’t the most ridiculous— You know, if it weren’t such a waste of
my time and ingredients, I’d put a pie in his face. And I’d smash one all over Matt’s,
too!” Emma grabbed a lemon bar and consumed half of it in one bite. “Why are fellas
so
dense
, Abby? How could James possibly do better than hitching up with you? I tried to tell
him that when he started seeing Zanna, but did he listen?”

Emma’s bewilderment had turned to righteous indignation, and suddenly Abby felt better.
Having a close friend share her frustration—realizing that Emma had a much harder
row to hoe—put her disappointment into better perspective. After all, if James was
acting as though he’d let her down, a chance remained that he’d make that missed kiss
up to her, while for Emma, finding another beau seemed less likely.

“Denki, Emma,” she murmured. “What would I do without a gut friend like you?”

Emma inhaled the aroma of her tea and then finished it. “I knew I could come here
any hour of the day or night and you’d hear me out, Abby. This tea hits the spot,
too. Chamomile, is it?”

“Jah, real nice before bedtime to settle you down.” Abby drained her cup. “Just out
of curiosity, what kind of pie would you pitch into James’s face? Picturing that makes
me giggle.”

“Oh, gooseberry! He screws up his mouth and refuses to eat it. Says it’s too puckery.”
The lines around Emma’s eyes relaxed. “And for Matt…wouldn’t blackberry make the biggest
mess? Can’t you see that dark goop running down his face, his eyes all wide and white
in the middle of it? Neither of them would believe I could do that, but it’s fun to
think about, ain’t so?”