Love Blooms in Winter (36 page)

L
ORI
C
OPELAND
is the author of more than 90 titles, both historical and contemporary fiction. With more than 3 million copies of her books in print, she has developed a loyal following among her rapidly growing fans in the inspirational market. She has been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award, The Holt Medallion, and Walden Books’ Best Seller award. In 2000, Lori was inducted into the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame.

Lori lives in the beautiful Ozarks with her husband, Lance, their three children, and five grandchildren.

Mid-July, 1881, Apple Grove, Kansas

Nearly the entire Amish district of Apple Grove had turned out to help this morning, all twenty families. Or perhaps they were here to wish Emma Switzer well as she set off for her new home in Troyer, fifty miles away.

From her command post on the porch of the house, Emma’s grandmother kept watch over the loading of the gigantic buffet hutch onto the specially reinforced wagon. Her sharp voice sliced through the peaceful morning air.

“Forty years I’ve had that hutch from my dearly departed husband and not a scratch on it. Jonas, see that you use care!”

If
Maummi
’s expression weren’t so fierce, Emma would have laughed at the long-suffering look Papa turned toward his mother. But the force with which
Maummi
’s fingers dug into the flesh on Emma’s arm warned that a chuckle would be most ill-suited at the moment. Besides, the dozen or so men straining to heft the heavy hutch from the front porch of their home into the wagon didn’t need further distractions. Their faces strained bright red above their beards, and more than one drop of sweat trickled from beneath the broad brims of their identical straw hats.

Emma glanced at the watchers lined up like sparrows on a fence post. She caught sight of her best friend, Katie Beachy, amid the sea of dark dresses and white
kapps
. Katie smiled and smoothed her skirt with a shy gesture. The black fabric looked a little darker and crisper than that of those standing around her, which meant she’d worn her new dress to bid Emma farewell, an honor usually reserved for singings or services or weddings. The garment looked well on her. Emma had helped sew the seams at their last frolic. Of course, Katie’s early morning appearance in a new dress probably had less to do with honoring Emma than with the presence of Samuel Miller, the handsome son of the district bishop. With a glance toward Samuel, whose arms bulged against the weight of holding up one end of the hutch, she returned Katie’s smile with a conspiratorial wink.

Her gaze slid over other faces in the crowd and snagged on a pair of eyes fixed on her. Amos Beiler didn’t bother to turn away but kept his gaze boldly on her face. Nor did he bother to hide his expression, one of longing and lingering hurt. He held infant Joseph in his arms, and a young daughter clutched each of his trouser-clad legs. A wave of guilt washed through Emma, and she hastily turned back toward the oxcart.

From his vantage point up in the wagon bed, Papa held one end of a thick rope looped around the top of the hutch, the other end held by John Yoder. The front edge of the heavy heirloom had been lifted into the wagon with much grunting and groaning, while the rear still rested on the smooth wooden planks of the porch. Two men steadied the oxen heads, and the rest, like Samuel, had gathered around the back end of the hutch. A protective layer of thick quilts lined the wagon bed.

Papa gave the word. “Lift!”

The men moved in silent unity. Bending their knees, their hands grasped for purchase around the bottom edges. As one they drew in a breath, and at Papa’s nod raised in unison. Emma’s breath caught in her chest, her muscles straining in silent sympathy with the men. The hutch rose until its rear was level with its front, and the men stepped forward. The thick quilts dangling beneath scooted onto the wagon as planned, a protective barrier from damage caused by wood against wood.

The hutch suddenly dipped and slid swiftly to the front. Emma gasped. Apparently the speed caught Papa and John Yoder by surprise too, for the rope around the top went slack. Papa lunged to reach for the nearest corner, and his foot slipped. The wagon creaked and sank lower on its wheels as the hutch settled into place. At the same moment Papa went down on one knee with a loud, “Ummmmph.”

“Papa!”

“
Ach
!”
Maummi
pulled away from Emma and rushed toward the oxcart. Heart pounding against her ribcage, Emma followed. Men were already up in the cart to check on Papa, but
Maummi
leaped into the wagon bed with a jump that belied her sixty years, the strings of her
kapp
flying behind her. She applied bony elbows to push her way around the hutch to her son’s side.

She came to a halt above him, hands on her hips, and looked down. “Are you hurt?”

Emma reached the side of the wagon in time to see Papa wince and shake his head. “No. A bruise is all.”

“Good.” She left him lying there and turned worried eyes toward her beloved hutch. With a gentle touch, she ran loving fingers over the smooth surface and knelt to investigate the corners.

A mock-stern voice behind Emma held the hint of a chuckle. “Trappings only, Marta Switzer. Care you more for a scratch on wood than an injury to your son?”

Emma turned to see Bishop Miller approach. He spared a smile for her as he drew near enough to lean his arms across the wooden side of the wagon and watch the activity inside. Samuel helped Papa to his feet and handed him the broad-brimmed hat that had fallen off. Emma breathed a sigh of relief when he took a ginger step to try out his leg and smiled at the absence of pain.

“My son is fine.”
Maummi
waved a hand in his direction, as though in proof. “And so is my hutch. Though my heart may not say the same, such a fright I’ve had.” She placed the hand lightly on her chest, drew a shuddering breath, and wavered on her feet.

Concern for her grandmother propelled Emma toward the back of the wagon. As she climbed up, she called into the house, “Rebecca, bring a cool cloth for
Maummi
’s head.”

The men backed away while Katie and several other women converged on the wagon to help Emma lift
Maummi
down and over to the rocking chair that rested in the shade of the porch, ready to be loaded onto the cart.
Maummi
allowed herself to be lowered into the chair, and then she wilted against the back, her head lolling sideways and arms dangling. A disapproving buzz rumbled among the watching women, but Emma ignored them. Though she knew full well that most of the weakness was feigned for the sake of the bishop and other onlookers, she also knew
Maummi
’s heart tended to beat unevenly in her chest whenever she exerted herself. Yet another reason why she ought to stay behind in Apple Grove, but
Maummi
insisted her place was with Emma, her oldest granddaughter. What she really meant was that she intended to inspect every eligible young Amish man in Troyer and hand-pick her future grandson-in-law.

Aunt Gerda had written to say she anticipated that her only daughter would marry soon, and she’d appreciate having Emma come to help her around the house. She’d also mentioned the abundance of marriageable young men in Troyer, with a suggestion that twenty-year-old Emma was of an age that the news might be welcome. Rebecca had immediately volunteered to go in Emma’s place. Though Papa appeared to consider the idea, he decided to send Emma because she was the oldest and therefore would be in need of a husband soonest.
Maummi
insisted on going along in order to “
Keep an eye on this hoard of men Gerda will parade before our Emma.
”

As far as Emma was concerned, they should just send
Maummi
on alone and leave her in Apple Grove to wait for her future husband to be delivered to her doorstep.

Rebecca appeared from inside the house with a dripping cloth in hand. A strand of wavy dark hair escaped its pins and fluttered freely beside the strings of her
kapp
. At barely thirteen, Rebecca possessed the rosy cheeks and smooth, high forehead that reminded Emma so sharply of their mother that at times her heart ached.

Rebecca looked at
Maummi
’s dramatic posture, and her eyes rolled upward. She had little patience with
Maummi
’s feigned heart episodes, and she was young enough that she had yet to learn proper restraint in concealing her emotions. Emma awarded her sister with a stern look and held out a hand for the cloth.

With a contrite bob of her head, Rebecca handed it over and dropped to her knees beside the rocking chair. “Are you all right,
Maummi?
”

“
Ach
, I’m fine. I don’t think it’s my time. Yet.”

Emma rang the excess water from the cloth, waved it in the air to cool, and then draped it across the back of
Maummi
’s neck.

“
Danki
.” The elderly woman realized that the men had stopped working in order to watch her, and she waved her hand in a shooing motion. “Place those quilts over my hutch before you load anything else! Mind, Jonas, no scratches.”

Papa shook his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. “
Ja
, I remember.”

The gray head turned toward Emma. “Granddaughter, see they take proper care.”

“I will,
Maummi
.”

Katie joined Emma to oversee the wrapping of the hutch. When Samuel Miller offered a strong arm to help Katie up into the wagon, Emma hid a smile. No doubt she would receive a letter at her new home soon, informing her that a wedding date had been published. Because Samuel was the bishop’s son, there was no fear he’d not receive the
Zeungis
, the letter of good standing. Rebecca would be thrilled at the news of a proper wedding in tiny Apple Grove.

But Emma would be far away, in Troyer, and would miss her friend’s big day.

Why must I live in Troyer when everything I love is here?

She draped a thick quilt over her end of the hutch and sidled away while Papa secured a rope around it. The faces of her friends and family looked on. They filled the area between the house and the barn, maybe eighty in total. She knew every one, loved every one in her own way. Yes, even Amos Beiler. She sought him out among the crowd and smiled at the two little girls who hovered near his side. Poor, lonely Amos. He was a good father to his motherless family. No doubt he’d make a fine husband, and if she married him, she wouldn’t have to move to Troyer. The thought tempted her once again, as it often had over the past several weeks since Papa announced his decision that she would live with Aunt Gerda for a while.

But she knew that if she agreed to become Amos’ wife, she’d be settling. True, she’d gain a prosperous farm and a nice house and a trio of well-behaved children, with the promise of more to come. But the fact remained that though there was much to respect about Amos, she didn’t love him. The thought of seeing that moon-shaped face and slightly cross-eyed stare over the table for breakfast, dinner, and supper sent a shiver rippling across her shoulders. Not to mention sharing a marriage bed with him. It was enough to make her throw her apron over her face and run screaming across Papa’s cornfield.

He deserves a wife who loves him
, she told herself for the hundredth time. Her conscience thus soothed, Emma turned away from his mournful stare.

“That trunk goes in the front,”
Maummi
shouted from her chair on the porch. “Emma, show them where.”