Emma Blooms At Last by Naomi King Page A

sheltered she was. Her eyes were sparkling, and she looked excited about taking the job. It had taken a lot of gumption for her to accept Sam’s offer, so he didn’t want to imply that she might not be suited to dealing with the public or to handling the pressures of the upcoming holiday shopping season.
    â€œGut for you, Emma,” he said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “We should all try new things every now and again. Sam couldn’t have asked a more steadfast, dependable person to help him out.”
    Emma’s blush deepened, and she withdrew her hand from his. “Denki for saying that,” she murmured. “I know I’ll have to face some challenges, but—but I’m determined to make it work.”
    Who could’ve seen
that
coming?
Jerome mused as he paid for their meal. During the ride back to Cedar Creek, Emma asked how things were going at their farm in Bloomingdale, now thatWyman’s family had joined them and eight kids lived there. This was the kind of light, easy conversation he’d been hoping for all morning. It made him wonder if Emma had been so quiet while they were shopping because she’d been looking for a way to share her news, which again pointed out how bashful she was. He hoped she—and Sam—wouldn’t be disappointed if their arrangement didn’t work out.
    As the mercantile and Graber’s Custom Carriages came into view, Jerome hoped to pin down another time when he could take Emma out—especially now that she’d be working. He slipped his arm behind her, along the top of the seat, but he’d barely halted the mules at the Grabers’ front porch before she sprang from the seat. Emma hurried into the house, slamming the door behind her.
    Women. Who can figure them out?
Jerome hitched Sparky and Winona to the front porch railing, realizing what an uphill effort he faced if he wanted to date Emma on a regular basis, much less begin courting her. Would she ever fit into his dreams of having a family . . . or would she require more time and effort than he was willing to invest?

Chapter Eight
    W hen Eunice’s kitchen was cleaned up after their dinner of casseroles and cake, Amanda paused in front of a china hutch where several pieces of her pottery were displayed. “It’s quite an honor to see my pieces set up this way,” she remarked as her hostess came to stand beside her.
    Eunice’s face lit up. “These were gifts from my eightieth birthday party,” she recalled fondly. “The blue and red backgrounds—and all those pretty daisies—perk up the whole room, ain’t so?”
    â€œThey do,” Amanda agreed. “That was quite a nice party, and I was tickled to be there when you opened so many pieces of my pottery that folks hereabouts had bought for you.”
    â€œI know our
Ordnung
forbids us to engage in art for its own sake,” Eunice said with a sigh, “but it was still a crying shame that the Clearwater bishop made you put away your paints. I’m glad our Vernon is a more progressive leader than Uriah Schmucker.”
    Now that Wyman had moved their family to Bloomingdale, Amanda could smile about the confrontations she’d endured with Uriah—especially the day she’d come home to find that he’d smashed several dishes while he’d forced the younger children to look on. “I’m back in business—working on orders from folks who came to Abby and James’s wedding,” she replied happily. “While our Bloomingdale bishop, Lamar Lapp, wants me to paint with more subdued colors, I’m pleased to be at my wheel again. And if you can keep a secret,” Amanda added, leaning closer to whisper in Eunice’s ear, “I’m making a complete set of dishes for James and Abby. It’s a gift from a couple of families here in town.”
    â€œOh, they’ll love that!” Eunice