Steadfast Mercy

by Ruth Reid

  “Caleb,” she rasped, sounding both winded and frantic. “I need your help.”

  He pushed off the ground. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need you to have lunch with us.”

  He let out a breath. “I thought the haus was on fire the way you sounded.”

  “Nay, nothing like that. Will you have lunch with us?”

  “Danki,” he sat back down, “but I brought mei lunch.” He held up his sandwich, then took a bite.

  She picked nervously at her nails. “Surely on a chilly day like today you could use a hot meal. I made a pot of goulash and I have a pan of cornbread in the oven as we speak.”

  Though tempted by the hot meal, he had too much work to let food sidetrack him. Caleb shook his head. “Sounds gut, but this sandwich is enough.” He took another bite, then washed it down with a sip of coffee.

  She looked over her shoulder toward the barn and heaved a sigh. “Do you know an Englischer named Mr. Jordan? He’s an older gentleman.”

  He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “The name isn’t familiar.”

  “Edna has invited him to have lunch with us.”

  “An Englischer?” That was a narrish thing to do.

  She nodded. “You and I both know that breaking bread with an Englischer is frowned upon.”

  “Highly.” He’d tried to warn Jonica that Edna’s mind was slipping.

  “Inviting a stranger to lunch—into the haus—is . . .” Her face pinched with worry. “I have to get back.” She turned and sprinted toward the house.

  Caleb scrambled to his feet. Jonica was right. Inviting a stranger to have lunch in a house with a child, an elderly woman, and a young, defenseless mother was cause for alarm. He refolded the tinfoil around his sandwich, placed it back in the knapsack, then unfastened Anchor from the tree. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be away and there was no sense leaving the gelding tied in the field when he could refuel on hay and water back at the barn.

  Chapter 7

  “Why did I ever think Caleb would help? Talking to him was a complete waste of time.” Jonica chided herself on the way back to the house. Not only was he unconcerned about Aenti inviting an Englisch stranger to lunch, but he’d practically shooed her away so he could finish his sandwich.

  Jonica spotted Mr. Jordan sitting on the chopping stump, whittling a piece of wood as she came out of the field. She shot him a quick wave, a cordial gesture, while continuing toward the house. Inside, the sweet aroma of cornbread met her at the door. The bread had to be done, but she needed to check on Stephen first. Finding him curled up in the rocking chair coloring on a sheet of paper next to the woodstove, she rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a pot holder, and removed the cast-iron skillet from the oven. Her mouth watered as she eyed the golden loaf.

  “Go ahead, Caleb. Eat your dry sandwich. I shouldn’t have expected anything different from a Schulmann.”

  “Did you say something, dear?” Edna asked.

  Jonica jolted. She’d been in such a hurry to check the cornbread, she hadn’t noticed her aunt on the opposite side of the room. “Ach, Aenti, you caught me by surprise. I didn’t see you standing there.”

  Edna chuckled as she removed an apron from the wall hook. “I thought I was the only one who talked to myself.”

  Jonica stifled a laugh. Though her aunt’s momentary sense of humor was refreshing, Jonica wanted to end further conversation in regard to who she’d been talking to herself about. Otherwise, Aenti might inquire about Caleb, someone Jonica had no interest in talking about. She busied herself with slicing bread, then removing dishes from the cabinet and setting the table.

  Edna tied the apron around her waist. “The food smells appeditlich.” She removed a serving spoon from the utensil drawer when the goulash began to sputter.

  “Be careful, that’s really . . .” hot. Jonica clamped her mouth shut, noting how Edna had shifted her stance and shot her a sideways glance that suggested she didn’t need a cooking lesson. Still, Aenti was bound to get burned using such a short spoon. Jonica removed a wooden spoon from the drawer and handed it to her aunt. “I think you’ll find this one easier to use.”

  Edna exchanged spoons. “There was a time when I was the one worried about you being too close to the stove.” She gently stirred the pot. “Nau, it seems I’m the one who is in the way.”

  Jonica placed her hand on the back of her aunt’s shoulder and leaned toward her. “You’re nett in the way. I love that we have this opportunity to work together in the kitchen again.”

  Edna sniffled. “Your voice is a sweet song in mei ear, kind.”

  Jonica gave the frail-boned woman a gentle hug. “It’s gut to be back, Aenti. I’ve missed you.”

  They would both be reduced to tears unless Jonica focused on the final meal preparations. She filled a glass with milk for Stephen, then poured two mugs of coffee for herself and Edna. “I wonder what your new friend will want to drink with his meal.”

  “He isn’t picky.”

  The hairs on Jonica’s arms stood on end. Edna would only know the Englischer wasn’t picky if they had shared other meals together—something Jonica planned to inquire more about over lunch. She removed another mug from the cabinet. “Do you know how he likes his kaffi?”

  “Cream and a dash of sugar.” Aenti smiled sheepishly. “In one of mei more forgetful moments, I served him black kaffi. He drank it down and never once brought the blunder to mei attention.”

  “I guess he’s truly nett picky.”

  “That’s what I just said.” Aenti winked.

  Jonica poured three mugs of coffee. She fixed hers and Edna’s the way they liked it but decided to wait on the Englischer and let him prepare his kaffi to taste. She set the drinks on the table, then checked for anything she’d missed. Four place settings, salt, pepper, sweet and sour pickles, cornbread and butter. Everything seemed in order.

  Standing at the stove stirring the goulash, Edna hummed Das Loblied, the praise hymn sung during every Sunday service. Jonica should be pleased how well Aenti remembered the tune, but instead her stomach pitted with unanswered questions. How much of her aunt’s blissfulness had to do with the Englischer?

  Edna glanced over her shoulder and stopped humming. “Is there something else you need, dear?”

  “I was just . . .” Jonica went to the upper cabinet and removed a large bowl. “I think the goulash is ready, don’t you think?”

  “Jah, I believe it is.”

  Using pot holders to grasp the pot handles, Jonica eased the piping hot mixture of stewed tomatoes, ground beef, and noodles into the bowl. She placed the dish in the center of the table, then wiped her hands on her apron.

  “It all looks so appeditlich.” Edna’s gaze swept across the dishes of food. “I haven’t had this many people at the table for a meal in a long time,” she said in a soft, reminiscent way.

  The loneliness in Aenti’s tone lodged deep in Jonica’s heart. Five years ago when her parents decided to move up north to Cedar Ridge, Aenti had refused to join them. She’d been born in the old house and planned to die in it too. But years of loneliness must have changed her mind—why else would she have decided to sell the beloved family farm?

  Edna clasped her hands together. “Let’s eat.”

  Jonica motioned to the other room. “I’m going to round up Stephen and help him get washed up.” Leaving the kitchen, she discovered Stephen and the Englischer in the sitting room, her son holding a small piece of wood. She hadn’t heard anyone knock on the door. Did Mr. Jordan let himself in? She cleared her throat. “Lunch is on the table.”

  “Look what Mr. Jordan gave me.” Stephen held up a wood-carved animal. “It’s a horse.” He trotted the wooden piece along the arm of the sofa, making neighing sounds.

  “I hope you thanked Mr. Jordan.”

  “He did.” The Englischer tilted his face upward and drew in a breath. “Is that sweet cornbread I smell?”

  “Jah, I make it with extra sugar.”


  Stephen slid off the couch. “You can sit by me.” He waved the man toward the kitchen.

  “Nett so fast, Stephen. You know the rules.” She pivoted him toward the washroom and gave him a nudge. “First, you clean up.”

  Stephen handed Jonica the horse, then scurried off to wash his hands.

  She turned the whittled piece over, the craftsmanship better than anything she’d ever seen. She glanced back at the man. His gray, long-sleeve button-down shirt appeared pressed, not something she would expect to find a drifter wearing. His denim overalls were patch free and clean. Nothing like the soiled garment a hardworking Amish man wore. Yet according to Aenti, the man fancied himself a handyman.

  Catching the man gazing across the room at her, she lifted the horse. “You have quite a woodworking talent.”

  “A gift from God.”

  “Jah, well.” She cleared her throat. “Stephen will be out in a minute, or you can wash up at the kitchen sink if you would like.” She motioned with a nod toward the other room where Edna was puttering, moving dishes around the table. Jonica planted her feet. From this angle, she could monitor the goings-on in the kitchen while being nearby to assist Stephen if need be.

  “Very well.” The man clasped his hands behind his back and meandered into the other room.

  Chatter arose from the kitchen with Edna doting on her guest and the stranger complimenting the cornbread’s tantalizing aroma. Don’t be easily charmed, Aenti. The man is an Englischer after all.

  Stephen came out from the washroom shaking his wet hands.

  Jonica frowned. “You couldn’t take a moment to dry your hands with a towel?” Normally she would send him back to finish the job, but today she used the front of her apron. “Gut enough.”

  Stephen raced to the table and eagerly climbed onto the chair next to the stranger.

  “Jonica, this is Mr. Jordan,” Aenti said.

  “Jah, we’ve—” Jonica drew back, puzzled as to why Mr. Jordan had stood and thrust out his hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

  “You too.” Shaking his hand, warmth spread to her core. Jonica moved to the opposite side of the table still somewhat dazed. She’d just taken a seat when someone knocked on the front door. Jonica stood, but Aenti, who was quicker to respond, insisted on going herself.

  A few moments later, Caleb entered the kitchen, straw hat in hand. “The food smells appeditlich. I hope I’m nett too late.”

  “Nay. We were just sitting down.” Jonica sprang to her feet. “What would you like to drink? Kaffi? Tea? Milk? Or wasser? There’s always wasser.” Stop rambling.

  “Kaffi sounds gut.” He hung his hat on the wall hook, then made his way over to the sink and turned on the spigot.

  Peter wouldn’t have stopped what he was doing. Maybe she had misjudged Caleb. He seemed to have a measure of caring qualities about him. She removed a mug. “Sugar, cream, both, or black?” Why couldn’t she talk at a normal speed? Her words ran together like someone stuffed with too many sweets.

  He chuckled. “How much caffeine have you had today?”

  “Me? Ach!”

  Stephen snickered. She didn’t dare turn and face her son, or Aenti and the redhead. But holding contact with Caleb’s sparkling blue eyes heated her cheeks. She shifted her attention to the utensil drawer, removing a fork, knife, and spoon.

  “A splash of cream would be nice,” he said.

  Jonica nodded without lifting her gaze from the drawer. She fixed his coffee, then took the mug along with the silverware piled on a plate to the table and placed it before him.

  “Caleb, I want to introduce you to Mr. Jordan.”

  Both men stood and Caleb was quick to shake the man’s hand. “Are you from around here, Mr. Jordan?”

  “Here and there.”

  “Caleb, would you be so kind as to lead the blessing for the meal?” Aenti bowed her head without giving him time to respond.

  “Sure.” Caleb sat and bowed his head.

  Jonica followed by lowering her head. Lord, thank You for the food we are about to receive. Bless it to the use of our bodies. Danki for changing Caleb’s mind about having lunch with us. And please, God, keep us safe in the midst of this stranger at our table.

  Opening her eyes, Jonica spied Caleb still praying. His thick mop of gingerbread-brown hair, sweat-damp curls from wearing his hat, dangled over his ears. He could use a haircut. Then again, she liked the longer hair, the boyishness. He reminded her of . . .

  “Amen.” Caleb lifted his head. Usually, the head of the house, who blessed the food, would immediately fill his plate, but Caleb waited.

  Edna handed the bowl of goulash to the Englischer. “Don’t be shy, nau. Dig in.”

  “Bless your heart, Edna. But I think this youngster next to me has waited very patiently.” Mr. Jordan looked across the table at Jonica. “Do you mind if I serve him first?”

  “I don’t mind.” But she didn’t trust the man and wasn’t about to take her eyes off of him no matter how kind he seemed.

  “How much would you like, son?”

  “A lot!”

  Jonica shook her head. “A little, and if you’re still hungahrich, you can have more.”

  The visitor placed half a ladleful on Stephen’s plate, then scooped himself some before he passed the dish to Caleb, who wasn’t shy about taking a healthy serving.

  Jonica smiled. That peanut butter sandwich he’d packed for lunch must not have filled him up. At least they wouldn’t have to eat so many leftovers. Besides adding cheese and turning it into a casserole, there wasn’t too much else she could do to make the goulash appetizing night after night. As it was, she’d made enough that they could all have seconds and then some. The cornbread went around the table next, then the butter dish.

  “This is mighty tasty,” the Englischer said.

  “I agree.” Caleb lifted his fork to Jonica. “Much better than mei peanut butter sandwich.”

  “Danki.” It especially pleased Jonica to hear that Caleb was enjoying the meal, even though a little more sugar would have balanced the acidity of the tomatoes better and the ground beef had a pinch too much salt for her taste.

  Edna stopped eating. “Oh, goodness. I haven’t introduced any of you to Mr. Jordan. He’s been helping me out lately.”

  “You already did that, Aenti Edna.” Stephen giggled, then covered his mouth with his hand, leaving markings of goulash on his face. He filled his spoon with another helping.

  “Mamm and I made a big pile of leaves, and we threw them way up in the air.” Stephen’s hand gesture demonstrated how he had tossed the leaves and he sent a spoonful of noodles flying to the end of the table.

  Jonica cleared her throat to get her son’s attention, then eyed him hard.

  Stephen pushed against the table, jarring his milk glass. “Ich get it.”

  “Wait until after we finish—” Too late. Stephen disappeared under the table. Mortified by her son’s disobedience, Jonica leaned against the empty chair beside her and spotted Stephen just as his knee came down on the visitor’s foot. “Stephen Muller,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

  He burst out from under the table at the opposite end, plucked a noodle off the table, and waved it around as if showing off a prize. “Got it. See Mamm?” he said before he popped it in his mouth.

  Jonica pointed to his vacant chair. “Take your seat, and stay there until you’ve been dismissed.” She buried her embarrassment in a weak smile and avoided eye contact with the others.

  “Don’t be too upset with the child,” the visitor said. “The boy meant no harm.”

  “He’s a handful, that one is,” Edna said, buttering a slice of cornbread.

  “Show me a bu who isn’t.” Caleb winked at Stephen. “I know mei bruder and I gave our mamm fits at times. Of course mei daed broke us of that behavior.” As if realizing he’d given a deep-rooted secret away, Caleb shifted his attention to the food on his plate and filled his fork. When he looked up again, he
’d replaced his somber expression with a forced smile, but he couldn’t erase the hint of sadness in his eyes.

  It was no secret that Caleb’s father had ruled his home with a heavy hand when it came to bringing up his sons—the reason Caleb’s brother, Peter, had given for ditching the faith, for making the decision to jump the fence.

  “More goulash, anyone?” Edna held up the bowl, then set it back down when everyone declined.

  The Englischer leaned closer to Stephen. “How old are you, child?”

  Stephen held up his palm and counted his fingers. “Five.”

  Jonica’s insides churned but not from hunger. The way Caleb’s brows knitted together, he was bound to be doing the math—figuring out how Stephen’s age correlated with how long ago her family left town: five years, three months, and ten days ago to be exact. Her secret was out.

  She set her fork down and folded her hands on her lap. Lord, please help me turn the conversation around for Stephen’s sake. I’m nett ready to answer the questions bound to be stirring in Caleb’s head.

  Jonica directed her attention to the Englischer. “How long have you known mei aenti Edna?”

  “A few weeks,” Edna answered for him. “He’s been . . . a kind friend.”

  Ach! The man had been hanging around the house longer than Jonica had thought. Did his arrival have something to do with Edna’s letter about wanting to sell the farm, or was it just coincidence?

  Caleb sat up straighter. “So,” he said to the stranger, pausing from taking another bite, “you’re from this area?”

  The man shifted to face Caleb straight on. “My home is not here. I’m just . . . passing through, you might say.”

  It’s nett wise to trust a drifter. Yet everything about his calm, gentle demeanor led Jonica to want to believe the best about the man. Still, the warmth his amber eyes displayed could be practiced deception, intended to hoodwink a fool.

  “How is your wheat field coming along?”