An Amish Arrangement

by Jo Ann Brown

  The placement had fallen apart, and she’d found herself in a car with the social worker who’d brought her north. Returned to the city, she’d been placed with a family who used the stipend from five foster kids to help pay for their own expenses. She’d remained there, virtually ignored, for the longest four months of her life.

  Then adults she hadn’t known came to the house. She’d realized they were social workers, and they’d given her no warning other than she needed to pack her personal items. The other kids in the house had been told the same. Though none of them had much, they’d delayed as long as they could over the task while they’d spent time speculating about what was about to happen to them. The older children had been resigned to being put with another family in another school district, but Mercy had been terrified.

  Her fear had grown when the other children were dropped off to meet other social workers so they could be introduced to their new foster families, but she’d been driven out of the city. Nobody had told her where she was going until they’d left the city behind.

  She’d been taken to meet Frieda and Kevin Bamberger, a Mennonite couple whose biological children were much older than she was. When she’d reached their comfortable home, she hadn’t had high hopes. At the time it’d been another change she didn’t have any say in.

  But she’d been welcomed as if she’d been a part of their family her whole life. A portion of her bedtime prayers every night still included her gratitude for the two people who had stepped up to be her parents.

  She had a chance to help a young child who was caught in the same trap. The Bambergers had welcomed her into their home and their hearts, giving her a new name and a new identity, though there was a remnant of Mercedes Ramirez hidden deep within her, and a family as precious to her as the one she’d shared with Abuelita.

  “All right,” Mercy whispered as she stared into the boy’s face.

  “All right?” repeated Whitney, astonished by Mercy’s sudden about-face. “Does that mean you’re willing to take Parker on a temporary basis? It could be a month or two before we find him something permanent. In the meantime, the county will provide you with an epinephrine injector in case he goes into anaphylaxis. Instructions for its use are right on the box, and you need to get familiar with them right away so you don’t have to stop to read them if he has an allergy attack. Are you ready to deal with that?”

  There wasn’t a single doubt in her heart, though her head was blaring warnings like a fire siren. “Yes, we’ll take him.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Heard anything about what’s going to happen with the farm?”

  Jeremiah glanced at Caleb, who was helping him set up his woodworking equipment. For now it was a makeshift workshop, but it was in one of the sturdier outbuildings. They’d set up a portable gas generator outside to power the equipment. His neighbor had worked with him, as well, in closing up the holes in the tenant house wall so it no longer snowed indoors. In exchange, Jeremiah intended to make a few pieces for his friend’s house. He’d already sketched out a large kitchen table and the benches and chairs to go with it.

  “Nothing,” Jeremiah said as he shifted a heavy saw a few inches to the left so there was enough space to walk past it. “I guess they’re still making up their minds.”

  “No news is no news, ain’t so?”

  He grinned at his friend, who was stretched out beneath a table saw. “That’s not exactly how I’ve heard it.”

  “But it’s true. No news means nothing’s been decided.”

  “You’re right.” Jeremiah leaned against a stack of planks as his gaze swept the workshop as if he’d entered it for the first time. He’d found the weathered boards in a small barn and brought them to his workshop. If he needed one for a project while Mercy’s family discussed the farm, he’d check with her. Using Rudy’s bulk tank in the barn to hold milk was one thing, but it’d be completely different to take the valuable wood without permission.

  Wiping his hands on a stained cloth, Jeremiah looked out the dusty window beside him. His brows lowered at a surprising sight. He hadn’t heard the late-model silver car pull into the driveway. Did Mercy have a friend visiting?

  As if he’d asked the question aloud, Caleb paused in examining the underside of a piece of equipment he’d been oiling and came slowly to his feet. “What’s so interesting?”

  “I didn’t know we had company.”

  Neither man spoke as a blonde Englisch woman came out of the house and got into the car. There was a jaunty bounce in her step.

  “She sure looks happy,” Caleb said. “That bolt is not turning as smoothly as it should. Want to check it?”

  “Sure.” Jeremiah didn’t move from beside the window. “Do you know her?”

  Caleb stepped closer to the window and peered out. The car was close enough so he could get a gut view of the woman’s face before she turned to look over her shoulder while she backed the car out.

  “I’ve never seen her before,” Caleb said. “I’ve met some of the Englisch farmers in the area, but not too many of the women. My sister said the Englisch women are friendly when she’s gone to the store.” He paused for a single heartbeat. “You seem very interested, Jeremiah. But please don’t go jumping the fence after some Englischer. We need you to help build our settlement. We’re six families since the Bowmans moved in yesterday.”

  Jeremiah nodded and assured Caleb that he was committed to the Harmony Creek settlement. He waited for the pain those words about jumping the fence always created. It came, but not as before. The memory of Emmarita’s leaving without saying goodbye was no longer agonizing. However, Caleb’s words were a reminder of what Jeremiah had tried to ignore.

  Mercy was Mennonite. Getting more involved with her and her daughter would be silly. He had to ignore how his heart beat faster whenever he thought of Mercy’s black hair and eyes the color of freshly overturned earth.

  Had his thoughts shown on his face? Or had he revealed the truth in other ways?

  Caleb gave him a sympathetic glance. “Staying separate from the world is tougher some times than others, ain’t so?”

  Jeremiah must have given his friend an answer, but once it’d left his lips, he couldn’t recall what it was. That Caleb gave him a companionable slap on the shoulder when he left—exactly as one of Jeremiah’s brothers would have—was the proof that he’d soothed his friend’s concerns.

  Lingering in his shop, Jeremiah knew Caleb was worried about Jeremiah falling for a woman who should be off-limits to him. His neighbor also held the weight of the settlement’s success on his broad shoulders. Adding more concern to Caleb’s already overflowing plate was one of the last things Jeremiah wanted to do.

  Either he or Mercy was going to be leaving the farm. Every way he looked at it, there was no future beyond friendship for them. He needed to keep that in mind.

  Always.

  Jeremiah’s resolve lasted exactly as long as it took him to walk over to the main house.

  Mercy turned from the stove as he came in. The aroma of chocolate swept through the kitchen. It wasn’t as enticing as Mercy, who had a dab of flour on one cheek and a line of chocolate beneath her other eye.

  Don’t think of her as enticing, he warned himself, but not being honest with himself was foolish.

  “I assume the other person looks worse,” he said with a wink at Sunni, whose dark braid was dusted with flour.

  “What?” asked Mercy.

  “You look as if someone gave you a black eye.”

  She glanced in the mirror over the sink where Rudy must have shaved. When she gasped and reached for a washcloth to clean her face, he and Sunni laughed. Sunni giggled harder when Mercy washed the flour out of her braid.

  “Call me when the cake’s ready to frost,” Sunni said once the last of the white was out of her hair.

  “I will. You know I depend o
f my best spatula cleaner.” Mercy bent to kiss the top of her daughter’s head.

  Jeremiah couldn’t keep from imagining how those lips would feel against him. He composed his expression when Sunni left the room and Mercy faced him.

  Her easy smile disappeared. “I’m glad you came over, Jeremiah. I need to talk to you about something important, so you’re not surprised.”

  “You sound like I did when I told you the cows were being delivered. Are you having something delivered, too?”

  His attempt at levity fell flat because she nodded.

  “Did you see the car in the yard earlier?” she asked as she motioned for him to sit at the table.

  “Ja. I assumed you had a friend visiting.”

  “Not a friend. Not yet anyhow. The woman who came here is Whitney Albright, and she’s a social worker with the county.”

  “Oh.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. Had Whitney come for something to do with Sunni? But wasn’t the little girl’s adoption final? There shouldn’t be a reason for a social worker to come to the house, unless...

  Was Mercy already going ahead with her plans to get approval for Come Along Farm? Had her daed given her some hint to what his siblings had agreed to? She would have told him, wouldn’t she?

  “Whitney wanted to ask if I’d be willing to take in another child temporarily,” Mercy said in not much more than a whisper.

  “Are you going to?” He tried to ignore the cascade of relief as he realized, for now, she didn’t know more about the future of the farm than he did.

  No ulterior motives, he chided himself. She’d concurred, and he hadn’t seen a sign of her reneging. He was judging her unfairly.

  She wiped her hands on a towel. “As long as I’ve got room, I’ll never turn away a child who needs a home.”

  When he chuckled, she frowned and asked what was so funny.

  “You stating the obvious,” he replied. “You want Rudy’s farm so you can fill it with kinder every summer. It’s not a big step to imagining you trying to fill this whole house with youngsters year-round.”

  “Not a whole houseful. Just one little nine-year-old boy who needs a home because his placement failed.”

  “His what failed?”

  “Failed placement is a term social workers use for when a child is placed in a home with either foster parents or prospective adoptive parents and then the child needs to be removed.”

  “And saying it failed means the parents don’t want the kind any longer?” He shook his head in disgust. “What were they thinking? A kid isn’t something to return to the store because it’s not a great fit.”

  Pulling out a chair, she sat facing him. “I agree, but sometimes it’s for the best. If the match isn’t a good one, it can be worse on the youngster than being moved somewhere else.” She slid a photo toward him. “This is the boy.”

  Jeremiah didn’t want to look. Getting more caught up in her life and her plans would complicate their already complicated situation. As he saw the determination in her eyes, he was curious why one boy she’d never met was so important to her.

  He reached for the photo.

  * * *

  Breathe!

  Such a simple order shouldn’t be difficult to follow, but Mercy found it hard to draw in a breath and release it as she waited for Jeremiah’s reaction to Parker’s picture.

  When Jeremiah smiled, she relaxed, astonished how taut her shoulders had become.

  “He looks like a normal nine-year-old.” Jeremiah tapped the photo. “You can tell he doesn’t want to sit still for someone to snap his picture. But why did Whitney choose you? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would have thought the state would wait until a decision is made about the farm.”

  Standing, she got a cloth to clean off the table. “I’m a licensed foster parent, and I’ve taken in other children on an emergency basis until a permanent foster home could be found.”

  “There must be other foster families in the area.”

  “There are, but Whitney liked the idea of Parker being with a family who already has an Asian child.”

  “Parker? That’s his name?”

  “Yes.”

  “It sounds very grown-up for a kid.”

  “I know. It’s the name his adoptive parents gave him, but it won’t be legally his name until he’s adopted. Until then, he’s legally Park Jae-Eun.”

  “That’s a mouthful.”

  “And Jeremiah isn’t?”

  He smiled. “I never said it wasn’t.”

  “I wanted to let you know there’s going to be another child in the house,” she said.

  “Why would you take on the responsibility of another kind when everything about the farm is up in the air?”

  “Because I know how painful a failed adoption is for a youngster.”

  “Sunni had a failed adoption?”

  “Yes. They happen more often than you’d expect.” She drew in a deep breath and released it through tight lips. “The couple who were going to adopt Sunni didn’t want a daughter who depends on braces.”

  He flinched.

  “Why are you startled?” she asked.

  “Amish families consider a kind with physical or mental challenges a gift from God who will bring a very special love to everyone.”

  “Do you give them physical therapy and such?”

  “Of course. We may not have doctors among us, but we appreciate and admire the work they do to keep us healthy.” When Jeremiah came to his feet, he said, “Be careful, Mercy. I admire your intentions, but...”

  He didn’t add more as he left the house.

  She was not sure what he could have said. He was right. She needed to be careful with her heart. With the boy and with Jeremiah, who could break it easily.

  Chapter Nine

  On Sunday morning Jeremiah had Hero hitched to the buggy and ready to go a little before eight. They were going only a quarter of a mile, but a cold wind would make walking difficult. He hadn’t hurried because they had the leisure of starting out later than he was accustomed to in Pennsylvania.

  He shivered, pulling his coat’s collar up to cover his nape. Slapping his hands together for what little warmth he could find, he was pleased when the door opened and Mercy and Sunni came out.

  He wasn’t surprised when Mercy picked up her daughter and half ran toward the buggy. Both were hidden beneath heavy coats, hats, mittens and scarves.

  With a nodded greeting because his teeth were chattering too hard to speak, he handed Sunni and Mercy into the buggy. He jumped in on the passenger side, pushing Sunni over with a laugh toward Mercy, who had to slide into the driver’s position.

  “I thought you’d want to drive.” He held the reins out to her.

  When she didn’t hesitate to take them, he motioned for her to turn the buggy with care in the shoveled area of the yard. He trusted Hero to know what to do, even if Mercy wasn’t sure.

  “My toes are getting warm!” Sunni stared at a metal box on the buggy’s floor.

  “That small heater probably won’t warm much more than your toes,” he said. “The bishop permits their use because of the cold, cold weather in northern New York.”

  “The bishop is the one who makes the rules?” Mercy looked along the twisting road, then called to Hero to go.

  “The Leit will meet to discuss and create the Ordnung for our district, or we will once we have enough families to be a true district. We need about a dozen.”

  “What’s that?” Sunni asked.

  “Leit means our people.” Jeremiah was pleased the little girl was curious about Amish ways, too. “The Ordnung are the unwritten rules we live by. They deal with everything from how we wear our clothes to what equipment we can use. Each item is discussed, prayed about and voted on. Our bishop helps us stick to it by defining certain aspects of life
that haven’t been specifically discussed. Like using small heaters in our buggies. Eventually, we’ll meet to decide.”

  “I vote for having them,” Mercy said with a laugh. “It’s nice to know, even if my fingers freeze off, my toes will be safe. That is, assuming we get next door in one piece.”

  As they drove from sunshine to the cooler shade where thick pine trees edged the road, Jeremiah said, “You’re doing gut with driving.”

  “My mommy can do anything.” Sunni’s tone stated he was a dummkopf for not already knowing that. “When I’m having trouble with my spelling, she tells me to try. She says you can’t know what you can do until you try. Right, Mommy?”

  Mercy didn’t shift her gaze from the ruts that could catch a buggy wheel. “That’s right, eolin-i.”

  “That means ‘little one’ in Korean,” Sunni said.

  “You speak Korean?” He looked at Mercy, astonished.

  “A few words. I learned them from my beautiful daughter before she forgot most of her Korean as she learned English.” She winked at Sunni. “I know a lot of Korean baby talk and a couple of songs. That’s about it.”

  Smiling, Sunni began to sing a children’s hymn whose tune he recognized. When she finished the first verse, she said, “That’s how Koreans sing it, Jeremiah.”

  “Do you know more?”

  He leaned back against the seat and listened to the little girl’s chirping voice singing every verse of the Korean hymn. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at ease, not determined to rush off to do the next thing. It was unexpected, and he decided to enjoy the moment.

  He wasn’t sure when another like this one would come again.

  * * *

  The drive went too quickly for Mercy. She was anxious not to make a mistake and embarrass herself and Jeremiah. What if their Amish neighbors weren’t pleased he’d invited her? In the weeks she’d been living on the farm, she hadn’t done more than wave to her neighbors. She knew they were as busy as she was with trying to make homes out of the mostly abandoned buildings on the farms in the hollow.