Free Amanda Weds a Good Man by Naomi King

“Packing aside, are you . . . ready to become my bride next week?”
    When Amanda exhaled, he pictured her with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. He wanted to kiss the soft column of her neck. . . .
    â€œI am,” she stated. “Whenever I feel overwhelmed by what’s still left to do, I remind myself that this packing and upheaval shall pass. I love you so much, Wyman.”
    He gripped his plate to keep from dropping it. “When you say that, it does funny things to my insides, Amanda.”
    â€œHmm. Gut funny, or . . . odd funny?”
    â€œYou make me feel like a man again.”
    She sucked in her breath, as caught up in these intimate whispers as he was. Wasn’t it wonderful that they both craved the sexual side of marriage? Many of his friends hinted that their wives merely gave in to their needs rather than respond with any sign of passion.
    â€œAnd I’m looking forward to being your woman, Wyman, instead of being a single parent.”
    â€œI understand
that
feeling. The Lord knew what He was doing when he created men and women to be together.” He rubbed the tines of his fork across the plate to capture the last crumbs of his pie. “I should let you go. Something tells me Simon will be too excited about driving those mules to settle down before bed.”
    Wyman hung up, feeling immensely satisfied. It was peaceful, sitting in the shadows of the office as the sun went down. As he thought ahead to his wedding day, he prayed that this serenity would carry him through the difficulties of combining two broods under one roof.
    But mostly, Wyman gave thanks for rhubarb pie and for the woman who had baked it.

Chapter Seven
    W hen the greenhouse door opened, Abby glanced up from placing Mason jars filled with celery—the traditional wedding centerpiece—in the middle of a table set for the day’s noontime feast. “Emma! Gut of you to come over so early,” she said. “Even though this is our third wedding in the past three weeks, Barbara and Mamm and I still can’t manage it all ourselves.”
    Emma picked up another tray loaded with centerpieces and began to set them out. “Jah, but you did it up right for Matt and Phoebe. Amanda’s lucky that you offered to help with her big day.”
    Abby glanced around to be sure they were alone in the glass-walled greenhouse. It was seven in the morning, so folks would soon start arriving for the wedding. “Wyman gave Sam a check that more than covered the dinner and desserts Beulah Mae and Lois have cooked up, plus a donation to our district’s emergency fund,” she said in a low voice. “He seems so happy that Sam’ll be preaching, too.”
    Emma cleared her throat purposefully. “Speaking of
happy
—did you know Amanda asked me to be her newehocker?”
    â€œJah? Who’s the lucky fellow she’s paired you with?”
    The way Emma rolled her brown eyes warned Abby that her best friend was in no mood to be teased. “Jerome Lambright, of all people. I’ve only seen him a couple of times, but—”
    â€œIf you ask me, Jerome’s a fine-looking fellow.”
    â€œAbby! You sound just like Mamm, trying to match me up with him.” Emma set a celery centerpiece on the table with a
thunk
that might well have broken the jar. “When we were at Mrs. Nissley’s Kitchen cooking the chickens for today’s roast, the women went on and on about what a fine catch Jerome would be—”
    â€œSam says he’s doing very well at training and selling the mules he breeds,” Abby remarked. “And what with him taking over the farm after Amanda moves into Wyman’s—”
    â€œYou obviously haven’t heard about how he’s asked two girls to marry him, and then backed out both times!” Emma blurted. “Jah, he’s got the looks and now the farm, but why do I want to get