An Amish Arrangement

by Jo Ann Brown

  A knock on the door told her Jeremiah was as good as his word. Taking a steadying breath, she opened it. She forced a smile, which she hoped looked more welcoming than it felt.

  Knocking snow off his boots, Jeremiah stepped inside. He unwrapped a blue-and-green scarf from around his face and let it hang over his shoulders as he unbuttoned his black wool coat. Lifting off his hat of the same fabric, he placed it on the counter near the door.

  Her heart beat a bit too fast when she stood close to him again. She’d thought of him as a problem, but with him an arm’s length away, she couldn’t help noticing, as if for the first time, his strong jaw and the intelligence in his compelling blue eyes. As he pulled off worn work gloves, she stared at the nicks on his knuckles and stain on his fingertips. He was a man accustomed to hard work.

  Graham, her former fiancé, popped into her mind. A fastidious man, his hands always looked as if he’d just had a manicure. She’d been surprised to discover he had his nails done when he took his mother to the beauty shop. When he’d told her it made Mrs. Rapp happy, Mercy had, at first, seen it as a sign of him caring deeply about others. She hadn’t guessed he’d cared more about his mother than he’d ever care for her.

  “Thanks for coming over,” Mercy said, holding out her hand for Jeremiah’s coat.

  He handed it to her, and waves of cold washed over her. It must be more frigid outside than in the house. Maybe the furnace hadn’t gone out too long ago and fixing it would be easy.

  “What have you done so far?” he asked, combing his fingers through his reddish hair.

  “I checked the fuel oil tank.” She set his coat over a kitchen chair. “There’s oil in the tank, so I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  “Let me look at it.”

  “Thanks!” She motioned toward the cellar door. “It’s down there. I’m hoping it’s something simple.”

  “Something simple is about the extent of my skills at fixing furnaces.” He gave her a grin. “Just in case, do you have the name of the person who did furnace servicing for Rudy? It’s probably the same company that delivers oil.”

  “I probably can find it. He kept that sort of stuff in his desk.” As coffee finished dripping into the clear pot, she asked, “Do you want a cup?”

  “I’ll have one when I’m done.” Without another word, he went to the cellar door and opened it. His work boots, which were as battered as his gloves, thumped on each step.

  Mercy heard Jeremiah pull on the chain to the bare bulb near the furnace. Hurrying into the room with Grandpa Rudy’s desk, she grabbed a black shawl from a peg. She threw it over her shoulders, holding it close with fingers as clumsy as a collection of icicles.

  The desk was heaped with papers and envelopes her grandfather must have tossed there in the days before he died. For a moment Mercy had to blink back tears. Throughout the mess of the past days, one thing hadn’t changed. She missed Grandpa Rudy, the very person she wanted to turn to now.

  Mercy found a receipt from the oil company and was relieved to see it had an emergency service number at the top. Putting it in the pocket of her black apron, she hurried into the kitchen to be ready to call the oil company if Jeremiah couldn’t fix the furnace.

  She paused when she heard uneven steps on the stairs to the second floor. Sunni was coming down the stairs without her crutches. Mercy frowned. Her daughter had promised to use them on the stairs. Worse, the little girl had wrapped herself in a blanket that threatened to trip her.

  “Sunni, you need to be careful,” she chided gently.

  “I was afraid of turning into an ice cube if I waited a second longer,” the little girl said. “Why’s it so cold, Mommy?”

  “Something’s wrong with the heat.”

  Before Mercy could say more, assertive footsteps came from the cellar steps. She turned to see Jeremiah in the doorway.

  Sunni mumbled something under her breath and scowled at Jeremiah.

  His gaze followed Sunni when her daughter walked into the living room, her pose beneath the blanket one of disdain. He arched his brows at Mercy.

  “Were you able to see what’s wrong with the furnace?” Mercy asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong with it.” He wiped his hands on a filthy cloth he must have found in the cellar. “Your fuel oil tank is empty.”

  “But I checked the tank before I called you. The gauge said it was half-full.”

  “The gauge is broken. The tank is completely dry.”

  “I never considered the gauge might be wrong.”

  “No reason you should.”

  “You did.” She pushed away from the stairs and flinched when the door gave a threatening creak. One disaster at a time. Reaching under her shawl, she pulled the receipt out of her pocket. “I’ll call the oil company’s emergency number and see if they can deliver some oil.”

  He glanced out the window. “They won’t be able to get in until the road is plowed.”

  As if on cue, the rumble of a big truck could be heard coming toward the house. She saw the huge wing of the plow as it pushed snow in large, thick chunks into the yard. She shuddered, thinking of the heavy work of clearing the driveway. Her car was stored in the rickety garage, and the old-style door opened straight out, so she was going to have to clear a large area there, too.

  Mercy made the call to the oil company, who assured her they’d be there before nightfall. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one needing service on the cold day.

  “You can’t stay here with Sunni,” Jeremiah said after she hung up. “The house is going to get colder and colder. The tenant house is a bit better, but you’ll get so chilled going over there, it probably won’t make much difference. Isn’t there a fireplace in the living room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Rudy use it?”

  When she nodded and Jeremiah offered to start a fire, she was relieved. She found a box of matches in the kitchen junk drawer and followed him into the living room, where he checked the fireplace, looking up at the top of the firebox where the damper opened into the chimney. He drew back, wiping soot from his trousers.

  While Sunni watched from the couch, as silent as she was whenever Jeremiah was near, he quickly arranged slabs of wood in the fireplace. Mercy handed him the matches and went to sit with her daughter.

  He struck one match and held it to the small bits of paper he’d stuck among the wood. Small flames rose, and Mercy resisted the yearning to hold out her half-frozen hands, knowing there wouldn’t be much heat yet. She needed to wait until the fire caught on the dried wood.

  Suddenly, Jeremiah jumped to his feet and staggered. Thick smoke chased him toward the middle of the room.

  “Get out!” he yelled.

  Chapter Four

  Mercy grabbed Sunni and ran toward the living room door, but paused when she heard a window slide open with the rattle of glass behind her. Jeremiah waved the smoke from the hearth out the window. Snow fell into the house, but he ignored it as he coughed. She put Sunni down and ran into the kitchen. She filled a bucket with water.

  He threw the water on the hearth, where it sizzled. He stirred the ashes, making sure the fire was completely out. Then he took the glass of water she offered him. He drained it in one gulp and coughed a couple more times.

  “I told you to get out,” he said. “With this dried-out wallpaper, the fire could have spread fast.”

  “Why would I leave you here?” she asked, annoyed he treated her as if she were Sunni’s age. “Once I heard you open the window, I knew the smoke would be sucked out.”

  “Maybe I was planning to jump out the window. Did you consider that?”

  “No.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “Neither did I. Once I could see through the smoke, I was able to see the fire was dying out.” He raised a single finger when she started to speak. “But you and Sunni should have gotten out o
f the house.”

  “To freeze in the snow?”

  He sighed as fresh air poured into the room, dispersing the smoke. “I thought you said your grossdawdi used the fireplace.”

  “He did.” Mercy took the glass from him.

  “Recently?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I almost always visited during the summer vacation.”

  “I suspect debris in the chimney has piled up over time. After it’s cleaned out, there shouldn’t be a problem.” He grimaced. “But right now you need heat.”

  “I can turn on the oven and open the door.”

  “Gas or electric?”

  “Electric. Why?”

  “I don’t want you to have to deal with gas fumes.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “You two go into the kitchen. Shut the doors and roll up towels and put them at the bottom. That should keep the heat in as much as possible.”

  “How about the fireplace between the kitchen and dining room? There are ashes on the hearth.” She glanced at the smoke stains on the ceiling. “Do you think it’d be safe to try to light that one?”

  “Let me check.” He followed her and Sunni into the kitchen.

  He knelt by the hearth as she turned on the oven and opened the door, hoping the old stove was up to heating the kitchen. Unlike the one in the living room, the kitchen fireplace was utilitarian. No fancy tiles. Just plain brick turned dark after decades of use. He reached in to check the damper. Paying no attention to the ashes, he stretched out on his back and peered into the chimney.

  “It looks open.” Jeremiah got up and knocked ashes off his pants. “Let me try a small fire. Got anything else to burn?”

  She grabbed a handful of newspaper from the pile left by her grossdawdi. “How about this?”

  “It’ll burn long enough to see if the smoke goes up the chimney or not.”

  He cheered and Mercy smiled, giving Sunni’s shoulders a squeeze, when the thin wisp of smoke was drawn up the chimney. Going into the living room, she realized there were only a couple of pieces of wood left. She took them into the kitchen and handed them to Jeremiah.

  “You keep the fire going, and I’ll get more wood,” she said.

  “Mercy, I can do that. It’s cold outside.” He started to stand.

  She put her hand on his shoulder, the motion automatic. But her response to the strong sinews was anything but. Jerking her hand back, she wanted to shake it to stop her skin from tingling.

  Somehow she was able to say, “No, you watch the fire. I’ll be right back.”

  Racing to the door, she flung it open. She pulled on her boots before she stepped into the deep snow on the porch. Quickly closing the door, she wasn’t fast enough to avoid seeing Sunni’s dismay that Mercy had left her with Jeremiah.

  Mercy took a steadying breath as her fingers continued to quiver from the memory of Jeremiah’s shoulder beneath them. Had she lost her mind? It was a big mistake to be attracted to him. Even if he didn’t want her farm, she was still reeling from a broken engagement. On top of that, her daughter didn’t like him.

  She hurried to the split wood that had been stored on the porch to dry. She gathered pieces in her apron and turned to go inside.

  She stopped as she looked across the snowy yard. It was broken by a single set of footprints. Jeremiah’s.

  No, she was wrong. There were other footprints. She recognized the tiny, scampering ones of a squirrel intent on finding where it had hidden its stash of acorns. A line near the pine trees separating the big house from the tenant house looked as if they belonged to deer. They would be having as difficult a time as squirrels in the deep snow. Once the house was warm, she needed to spread hay for the deer and strew a few handfuls of the birdseed she’d seen in a cupboard. Grandpa Rudy always had made sure his bird feeders were kept full, despite the concern of bears helping themselves to the seed.

  All God’s creatures need to eat, and we are His hands to take care of His creation.

  How many times had she heard Grandpa Rudy say that? Oh, how she missed him!

  A gust of wind swirled snow into her face, and Mercy hurried inside. As she let the wood roll onto the floor beside the hearth, Jeremiah smiled at her.

  “Perfect timing,” he said. “I was about to go out and make sure you hadn’t frozen into a chunk of ice.”

  “My mommy is doing the best she can!” asserted Sunni, jutting out her tiny chin. She flounced into the dining room and hid behind a book.

  Mercy started to apologize to Jeremiah for Sunni’s behavior.

  He motioned aside her words. “She’s cold, and she’s scared. I should have thought before I spoke.”

  “You know it doesn’t have anything to do with what you said.” She wouldn’t sugarcoat Sunni’s antipathy to him. “I’m sorry she’s being bratty to you.” And I know I should be honest why, but I can’t when I’m too embarrassed by what happened with Graham.

  “She’s a kid. I’ve got enough nieces and nephews to know when they get something in their head, it’s not easy to get it out.”

  “Do you have a lot of them?”

  “More all the time, thanks to my brothers and sisters.” Standing, he looked at the fire crackling contentedly on the hearth. Already warmth was pushing aside the cold. “Keep feeding it wood, and it won’t go out.” He hesitated, then said, “I should get going.”

  She asked before she could halt herself, “So how many brothers do you have?”

  * * *

  Jeremiah wondered why Mercy was extending the conversation when it had seemed, moments ago, she couldn’t wait until he left.

  “Six. Three older and three younger,” he said. “And two sisters. Add in their spouses and kids, and we have a full table when everyone comes together.” He couldn’t halt his smile. “Mamm is never happier than when everyone is sitting around the table together. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “Now, but I was an only child when I lived in the Bronx.”

  “I can’t imagine being an only.” Or living in a big city. “I’ve always been surrounded by siblings, which most of the time I appreciated.”

  She nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve learned how siblings can be your best friends, but also they know exactly how to annoy you best.”

  “So your family used to live in New York City? I didn’t realize Mennonites lived there.”

  “I wasn’t Mennonite then.” Before he could ask what she meant, she said, “I need to make Sunni breakfast. I promised her pancakes. Would you like some, too?”

  “I had some toast when I woke up, but that was several hours ago, so I’d be grateful for a second breakfast. I’ve got a long day ahead of me.”

  “Unpacking more of those big crates?” Color rose up Mercy’s cheeks, and he guessed she’d blurted out the question before thinking.

  “Ja. I had my woodworking tools sent up from Paradise Springs before I realized...” He wasn’t surprised when she went to collect the makings for breakfast. Why did she act ashamed? The situation they were in wasn’t her fault. She was as much a victim of misunderstandings as he was. He hurried on to fill the abrupt silence. “I want to make sure nothing got broken between Pennsylvania and here.”

  “That makes sense.” She took a bowl out of a glass-front hutch built into the wall opposite the fireplace. She put flour and eggs and other ingredients in the bowl and she mixed them together.

  She closed the oven door and hefted a cast-iron pan out of the drawer beneath it. After heating the pan, she poured pancake batter into it.

  Sunni peeked in. The frown she gave Jeremiah didn’t need translation. She wished he’d go away and stay away.

  Lord, help me find a way to let this kind know I’m not her enemy. Or her mamm’s.

  The little girl had to be aware of the tension between Mercy and him. Sunni was old enough to understand there was a prob
lem, but couldn’t grasp the intricacies of estate law. He didn’t get it, either, though Kitty had explained it to him. It was too bad they couldn’t help each other, but his plans for the farm and Mercy’s were different.

  When Mercy put pancakes on a plate and set it on the kitchen table, Sunni asked, “Can I eat in the dining room?”

  Mercy hesitated; then she nodded. The little girl poured herself a glass of orange juice, picked up her plate and carried her breakfast into the other room.

  “I’m sorry,” Mercy said as she returned to the stove.

  “It won’t help to force her to spend time with me,” he replied.

  “True.” She set a stack of lightly browned pancakes in front of him. The edges of the pancakes were crisp, just as he liked them. As he started to say that, she interrupted him. “I need to explain why she’s acting like this.”

  “Okay.”

  She faced the stove. “I was in a relationship that didn’t work out, and she was upset when Graham and I went our separate ways after I realized I would always play second fiddle to his mother.”

  “Danki. I was beginning to think it was personal.” He couldn’t help being curious about how serious she and her Graham had been. He hoped not as serious as he’d been about Emmarita before she left her Amish life behind. He hoped Mercy didn’t have as many regrets as he did.

  “It’s not. The move has upset her more than I’d guessed it would.”

  “And the possibility you won’t be staying here isn’t helping.” He smothered the sting of Emmarita’s betrayal by concentrating on the problem he and Mercy shared.

  “Not a bit.”

  “Have you heard anything from your family?” he asked after he paused to say a silent grace. He picked up his fork so he didn’t have to look at her as he waited for her answer.

  “Nothing definitive. Dad said they’re planning a conference call to discuss the farm.” She put a cup of fragrant kaffi next to his plate before going to the stove to make her own breakfast. “Everyone will want to share his or her opinion.”