Amanda Weds a Good Man by Naomi King

was playing on the diner’s jukebox, we all got a big kick out of it,” she explained. “He probably can’t tell you what he ate for breakfast this morning, but he still recalls stuff from years ago.”
    â€œMerle’s come over several times, asking Matt if he needs any help with the sheep,” Rosemary replied. “He’s such a sweet old fellow.”
    â€œJah, there’s nobody nicer than Merle.” Abby smiled as she made sure all the tables were properly set.
And James couldn’t have missed the way his parents want him to pop the question, either
, she mused.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    F illed with a serene happiness, Amanda stood before more than two hundred guests, confidently repeating her vows after Bishop Vernon Gingerich. Standing beside Wyman as he gazed into her eyes, she felt cherished . . . adored by this man whose breathing matched hers as they promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.
    â€œAre you confident, Sister, that the Lord has provided this our brother as a marriage partner for you?” Vernon intoned.
    â€œJah,” she replied.
    A brief memory of her first wedding flitted through her mind. She had been so nervous the day she married Atlee—sick to her stomach to the point that some of the women had speculated she was already in the family way. But that was a lifetime ago. Surely this surge of strength and assurance was a sign from above that her union with Wyman Brubaker would be a blessing beyond her wildest dreams. He was so handsome, with his dark hair and deeply tanned skin . . . so intent upon following her every word, with utter love written all over his face as the ceremony continued.
    â€œDo you both promise together that you will with love, forbearance, and patience live with each other, and not part from each other until God will separate you in death?”
    For a moment Amanda got so lost in Wyman’s gaze that she forgot to respond—but it was all right because Wyman, too, seemed speechless. “Jah,” they whispered in unison.
    â€œMamma! Hi, Mamma!” a familiar little voice cried out.
    Vernon’s blue eyes twinkled and low laughter surrounded the wedding party. Lizzie, near the back of the women’s side, hastily grabbed Cora to make her sit down.
    â€œSuch a blessing it is, to be surrounded by your children as you and Wyman become man and wife,” the bishop said, beaming at the congregation. “And as we come to the final part of these sacred vows, I wish to offer up a prayer that this newly formed family will soon be woven together seamlessly,” he intoned. “Not like the delicate organdy of Amanda’s kapp, but like the TriBlend denim she will sew into pants for Wyman and his sons . . . sturdy enough to survive years of wear and tear without fading or splitting or unraveling when it’s stretched to the limit. Shall we bow for a moment?”
    Amanda’s soul stilled during the silent prayer. The best blessing this morning was having this eloquent leader of Cedar Creek performing their ceremony rather than Uriah Schmucker. The crusty old Clearwater bishop had preached during the earlier church service about absolute obedience to God and the
Ordnung
, forsaking all individual needs for the higher good of their collective faith. While it was proper Old Order doctrine, his message had sounded harsh and inflexible. Intolerant and unforgiving.
    But we’ll work it out with Your help, Lord
, she prayed as Vernon’s “amen” ended the silence.
    Moments later the Cedar Creek bishop pronounced them man and wife. When the roomful of guests rose from the benches to congratulate them, the noise level grew deafening, so Wyman led her outside to accept everyone’s best wishes. They had barely crossed the threshold before he grabbed her up for a long, exhilarating kiss.
    â€œI thought church would never