Amanda Weds a Good Man (22 page)

Say it now! Ask her!
his thoughts urged.
Whisper in her ear. You know she'll say yes.

James held his tongue, though. He had always envisioned the special moment when he proposed marriage as something private and sacred between the two of them. There had been a time when his skittish heart had held back out of fear of rejection or another betrayal like Zanna's, but now he simply wished to honor Abby with the most important question he would ever ask her. He wanted to do this right.

Conversations remained hushed until the storm finally blew itself out of the area and the sky began to lighten. When Sam and Vernon went to the windows, however, shock tightened their faces.

“Oh, my,” Sam rasped. “Several big tree branches are down—not to mention that big maple out front, which blocks the lane. The lawn is littered with fence posts—”

“Looks like we had a small tornado,” Vernon said as he pointed toward the road. “I sure don't like the looks of that teetering tree near the greenhouse.”

Wyman eased the children from his lap to stand up. “The least we can do is take down that tree, clear your lane, Sam, and assess the damage here before we head home. Could be our places only got a gut soaking of rain.”

As the others rose around him, James helped Abby up. “I should take a look at our place before Mamm and Dat start home,” he remarked as he saw the concern etched on his parents' faces.

“I'll go with you, James,” Jerome insisted. As he helped Eunice up from her couch cushion, he held her gaze. “How about if you and Merle stay here where it's dry until James and I are sure you can cross the road safely?”

“We'll do that,” Eunice replied, mostly to make the point to her husband. “Merle and I can find a cart to haul my presents home.”

“I'll tag along with you fellows,” Abby offered. “Sam's got plenty of help for clearing any blocked lanes and rounding up livestock, so I'll check your house before I see about any damage to the mercantile and Mamm's greenhouse.” Without pausing for him to protest, Abby went over to reassure James's parents that she would return soon with a report.

As they stepped outside through the basement door, however, everyone got quiet. James had never seen so much damage, what with tree limbs ripped off, shingles and other debris scattered across the wet grass, and gaping holes in Matt's pasture fence. “It's a miracle that your house wasn't hit and your barn's still standing,” he murmured.

“I see a few panels out of Mamm's greenhouse,” she replied in a tight voice. “But we can fix those things. God has truly blessed us by sparing the people we love most.”

“You're right, Abby.” James pointed to the old sweet gum tree Vernon had mentioned, grimacing at the huge roots that protruded into the air on one side as it swayed precariously. “We'll need to deal with that—”

With a loud groan, the uprooted tree listed and then slammed into the ground. The impact shook the earth beneath them. The
crash
reverberated against the back of the mercantile and greenhouse, making a few more panes of glass tinkle as they fell inside it. Several of the women reached for one another, their hands going to their mouths in shock.

Abby grabbed James's hand. They stared silently at the ancient tree, native to the property when the Lambrights had acquired it generations ago. Sam and the others stood frozen in place as they took in the extent of the damage . . . and the fact that some serious sawing and hauling would have to be done before anyone could start home. The men spread out to look at the outbuildings and check on the livestock inside them, here and across the road.

James swallowed hard. A glance at his home place revealed several severed limbs and broken windows in the barn and the carriage shop, along with damage to the front porch posts of the house, but the structures had remained intact—and for that he felt immensely thankful. He inhaled repeatedly to still his racing heart. He reminded himself that their lives would return to normal and that the world had not come to an end despite the force of the fierce winds they'd heard from the Lambrights' basement.

Yet something inside him craved reassurance. His mind-set shifted. What if they hadn't gotten into the house in time? What if his parents or Emma—or Abby—had been in the way when the storm had ripped off such huge tree branches and hurled them to the ground?

James felt very insignificant and vulnerable even as he sent gratitude to God for the safety of everyone he loved. The thought of losing Abby stabbed at him, even though she stood stalwartly next to him. A thunderstorm had contributed to the accident that cost Wyman Brubaker his first wife, after all, and even though he was married again, his life—and his children's lives—would be forever altered.

It seemed absurd to wait any longer. Too many times he'd let the chance to speak up pass him by.

“Abby, will you marry me?” he pleaded in a rising voice. “I love you so much I don't even want to
think
about going through another day without you by my side. If something happened to you, I couldn't—”

“James, I'm right here. I always will be.” Abby turned to stand before him, taking his hands between hers. Her deep brown eyes held his, so steady and full of love they overflowed. “If it'll make you feel better, I'll marry you this very minute—if Vernon and Sam will perform the service.”

James stood transfixed. His mouth opened and then closed before he hugged her fiercely. “Oh—but of course we'll do this up right, Abby. A special day and a big dinner, with all our friends and family,” he insisted before a nervous laugh made him shake all over. “I just had to ask—had to know—”

He pivoted toward the other folks scattered about the yard. “I asked her, and Abby said jah!” he cried out. “We'll be getting hitched real soon!”

Everyone within earshot turned to gaze at the two of them. Applause burst out all over the large lawn.

“About
time
, Graber!” Jerome cried out as he sprinted across the wet grass. He clapped James on the back and hugged Abby exuberantly.

Emma and Barbara ran over, along with Rosemary, Vera, and the other young women. “Oh, this is the
best
news!” Emma was laughing and crying as she grabbed her brother and Abby in a hug. “A wedding will be just the thing to heal us all after this storm—”

“Yet another reason to celebrate all the gifts the Lord has bestowed upon us,” Vernon agreed as he walked over. His blue eyes twinkled and his cherubic face lit up within the wreath of his snowy beard. “I've waited a long time for this particular joy, James and Abby,” he said as he placed his hands on their shoulders.

James felt bubbly and excited yet indescribably at peace. “Jah, so have I,” he murmured. “It's going to be a gut life for Abby and me. We'll give it all we've got.”

A
ll the way home, Wyman, Amanda, and Jemima shook their heads over how some farms had escaped the storm's fury while other places had lost buildings, fences, and large old trees. “What does it mean, when one fellow's barn gets blown in while other folks don't have a blade of grass out of place?” Wyman pondered aloud.

“Jerome mentioned a newfangled weather term he heard on someone's television,” Amanda said. She shifted Alice Ann on her lap. “Something like
microbust
or
microburst
, to explain a big hit of power in one spot that can crack trees and knock out electrical power. Not that any new name for storm damage helps us clean it up.”

Jemima let out a short laugh in the buggy's backseat, where she sat with the twins. “Might take a microburst to get Emma and our Jerome together,” she remarked. “Seems like one's trying to outdo the other, far as pretending not to be interested. Maybe James and Abby's engagement will get them off the fence.”

“With Jerome, there's no telling what he's up to,” Amanda pointed out. “But Merle and Eunice sure are crazy about him.”

“Nice of him to stay and help James put plywood in the windows that blew out,” Wyman remarked. He sat taller in the seat when the home place came into view, clucking for the horse to go faster. “Let's hope Wags is safe in his doghouse, or we'll have no end to Simon's . . . oh, my. This doesn't look gut.”

As they hurried round the last curve, the destruction on the front of the house made Wyman suck in his breath. He halted the horse . . . heard the buggy behind theirs, which Eddie was driving for Simon and the older kids, stop behind him.

“Wags! Wags!” the little boy hollered as he hit the ground running.

While Wyman understood the anguish in that shrill voice, he also knew how dangerous it was for Simon to approach the damaged house. He jumped down from the buggy and ran until he hooked an arm around his frantic son, praying that the dog would bark when he heard Simon's voice.

“But, Dat, we've
got
to see if—”

“And we
will
,” Wyman insisted as he lifted his struggling son to his shoulder. He whistled loudly, yet another prayer for Simon to be spared the agony of losing his pet.

Meanwhile he could only gape at the front of the house: two massive old maple trees had toppled, one into the kitchen and the other into the front room. They had crashed through the roof and upper story on their way down, leaving three bedrooms open to the elements.

Behind him, he heard Amanda's anguished “Ohhhh—”

“What happened, Mamma? Lemme see!” one of the twins piped up.

“There's Wags!” the other one crowed. “Let's get out and—”

“You girls are staying right here,” Jemima said as she grabbed them. “We can't see what other damage might be waiting for us—and what we
can
see is plenty nasty enough.”

Wyman stood motionless, unable to process the horrendous sight before him. He set Simon on the ground while Wags bounded toward them. As he watched the boy tussle with his dog in the wet grass, Wyman wished himself back at that innocent age when play was so much more pressing than the responsibilities of parenting . . . when he could depend on the adults to provide his food and shelter without a moment's doubt that they would. With few exceptions, he'd spent every day and night of his life in this old white farmhouse, and that comfort—that eternal sense of security—had just been snatched away from him. The only positive side to the devastation was that somehow Wags had gotten out of his pen and into a safe place.

“Let's think about what we need to do,” Wyman said above the children's worried chatter. He gestured for everyone to get out of the rigs and gather around him. “First off, we thank God that we weren't here during the storm, and that none of us are hurt—including Wags.”

During their moments of silence, Wyman corralled his racing thoughts, hoping that in his state of shock and disbelief he would take proper care of his family. Never in his life had he thought his beloved home would become uninhabitable, and nothing had prepared him for such an emergency.

“We can't sleep here tonight,” he said when the others had raised their heads. “And no matter how badly you want to go inside, we can't enter the house until someone from the propane company checks for leaks. Is everyone clear on that?”

“Why, Dat?” Simon whined. “It's still our house, ain't so?”

“Jah,” Eddie replied, “but if gas has been leaking from the stove or the furnace, the whole place could explode when we light a lamp.”

The twins huddled closer to their mother, and Alice Ann's thumb went into her mouth. Four sets of little eyes widened as they gazed at their home.

“Do you understand why we can't go inside now?” Wyman looked at each of the kids until they nodded at him, wishing he could wipe the fear from their earnest faces. “Vera, you and Lizzie go down to the Bylers' roadside motel and see if you can get us three or four rooms. Eddie and Pete, you can check the livestock in the barn while I call for someone to check the gas.”

He looked at Amanda then, pleased that she and Jemima had remained calm. “You ladies stay put until I get back from the elevator office,” he said. “Have I left anything out?”

“What about me, Dat? I wanna help, too!” Simon hopped from one foot to the other beside his dog. His hair was rumpled and his clothes were streaked with wet grass stains but his spirits had rallied with the chance to be of assistance.

Wyman was thankful for this son who made him smile. “You and Wags come to the elevator with me. We need to decide what kind of pizza and subs to order.”

“Jah, I can do that!”

Amanda was scanning the branch-strewn lawn and then glanced down the road toward the Fisher place. “You might call Ray and see how his family has fared . . . see if he and his boys can help you haul those trees out of the house sometime soon.”

“Gut idea.” Wyman stared again at the caved-in section of his lifelong home. It struck him then: the folks in Cedar Creek had been checking one another's places as soon as the storm had passed, sawing the tree in Sam's lane and helping with repairs. While it was true they had no close Amish neighbors because the Fisher place adjoined Brubaker property alongside the elevator and the railroad tracks—and other folks in their district were probably tending to their own damaged property—Wyman felt strangely . . . isolated.

Was it his troubled imagination, or had church members kept their distance since he'd married Amanda? Friends aplenty had extended their condolences and brought food after Viola's death, yet those ladies—and their husbands—had been absent these past few weeks. He'd been too concerned with the harvest and blending two families to notice it until now.

Maybe he was just feeling desperate and sorry for himself, and he had no time for such useless emotions. His family was depending upon his decisions. His direction.

“We'll handle this crisis one step at a time, as best we can. We've got one another, and that means everything,” Wyman murmured before he went to make his calls. “God's gotten us this far safely, and He'll see us through to wherever He's leading us.”

Within half an hour, Wyman felt that the situation was indeed in the Lord's capable hands: a truck from the propane company had been in the area when he called, and was on its way. When he returned from the office, Amanda and the girls were picking up small limbs and litter from the yard. The older boys came back from the barn chores to report that the animals were skittish but safe. The Bylers had rooms for them in the old mom-and-pop motel down the road, and supper would be delivered in about an hour. Best of all, Ray and the two older Fisher boys were coming by first thing in the morning with their chain saws to clear away those fallen trees.

Step by step, one foot in front of the other
, Wyman reminded himself—because it kept him from dwelling on the catastrophic damage done to his home. By the time the propane man had turned off the tank and declared the house free of leaks, the sun was sinking in the red-streaked western sky. Wyman saw the curiosity on his children's faces, but he couldn't turn them loose.

“We can't risk having the floor collapse or pieces of the roof falling on you,” he told them. “So I want you kids and Jemima to drive on down to the motel, while your mamm and I pack up some clothes for everybody. After we see what damage has been done, we'll have a better idea of what to do next. Meanwhile, save us a sub and some pizza, all right?”

“But, Dat, I wanna check my room—”

“We've got to get our dolls—”

“Nope.” Wyman held up his hands to silence them. “Better enjoy this time off tonight, because plenty of work awaits us until we get our home put back together. Scoot, now. We'll see you in a while.”

When the two buggies were rolling down the road, Wyman let out a huge sigh. Worry weighed him down like a wet overcoat as he took Amanda's hand. “I can't stop wondering what this means,” he murmured as they started down the lane. “And I can already hear Uriah declaring that God sent the storm here to get me back on the path to salvation. To set me straight about my attitude.”

“
Your
attitude?” Amanda murmured. “It's me who's led you astray with my pottery and my flashy, short dresses.”

Wyman smiled ruefully. “I went to see Uriah after he smashed your pottery. Didn't let on about it, because I didn't want to upset you anymore,” he admitted in a low voice. “The bishop informed me that I was too blinded by my love for you to be focused on God's will. At least he was right about that one thing.”

They stopped several feet in front of the porch, which was filled with the top of a huge, uprooted tree. Shattered window glass, broken furniture, and gaping walls were warning enough not to come any closer, and the moan of the sagging upstairs floor sounded like the desolate cry of Wyman's frightened heart. “We'll have to go in through the back. But don't pack anything until I've entered the rooms first,” he insisted. “Looks like Vera, Lizzie, and the older boys might have to wear some of our clothes for a while.”

“We'll figure it out, Wyman. And you know what?”

The strength in his wife's voice made him pause before they opened the back door. Amanda looked wary about entering the house but she had remained as solid as a rock throughout their ordeal this afternoon. “What, my love?”

When she smiled, his heart lifted. “I'm not telling you what to do,” she said, “but I have a house that'll hold us all, you know. We can live there until this place is put back together. And now that Jerome's returned that eight-mule team to its owner, we can move the animals into my barns, too.”

Wyman's breath caught. Wasn't this the most obvious sign of all that God was watching out for him, despite the negative things Uriah Schmucker had said? He cupped Amanda's sweet face between his hands, kissed her, and then pressed his forehead to hers. “You can't imagine what a relief this is—”

“Jah, I can,” she whispered.

“—and how many problems you've just solved by mentioning a house I'd forgotten about,” he went on. “Denki, Amanda.”

“You're welcome. You've had a lot on your mind these past few hours.”

Wyman hugged her close, and then opened the door to peer inside. The kitchen cabinets and appliances nearest the front had been crushed by the tree, and the room was filled with shingles, wet lumber, and a demolished bed and dresser from Vera and Lizzie's room. He shut the door quickly, before he could dwell on the extent of the damage—and because they were losing daylight. “We'll go in the other way,” he said, pointing toward the addition where the dawdi haus was.

And wasn't it true, the adage about God shutting a door but then opening a window? Wyman sensed that Amanda had thrown open more than a simple window for their family. He clung to that hope as he clutched her hand, and together they went inside.