Mountains of Grace

by Kelly Irvin

  Mercy liked Caleb. A lot. He was sweet and kind and, to her inexperienced eyes, handsome. But an invisible wall separated them. No matter how much she whittled, pried, and hammered, the wall wouldn’t come down. Caleb never talked about his family or Indiana. He never talked about his feelings for her. Even when he asked her to marry him, he hadn’t said he loved her. What kind of proposal was that?

  She would stick to pioneer stories and leave the fictional romances to the English ladies.

  Curling her bare toes in sudden frustration, Mercy raised her head and brushed aside the gauzy shell-pink curtains to stare at the trees outside the window. A cool breeze brushed her face. September brought autumn weather. If only it would bring rain and douse the fire. Then they could go back to their lives. She leaned against the solid wall of the old house and searched for stars blinking between tree branches that danced the night away.

  “You should be asleep.” Her hands already removing pins and releasing the bun that had spent the day hidden under her kapp, Leesa padded into the room. “You disappeared as soon as the kitchen was clean and prayers were said.”

  “I thought I would get to sleep early. It’s been such a hard day.”

  “But you couldn’t sleep. Not surprising. Everything is topsy-turvy.” Leesa pulled her dress over her head and hung it on a hanger in the closet at the other end of the room. Their first closet. “I’m pretending it’s a vacation in a faraway town. We have a hotel room with all the Englisch stuff we don’t have at home. Even your silly books.”

  “They’re not silly.” Mercy closed her mouth. Leesa always made fun of her reading. Mercy had learned not to rise to the bait. “Where have you been? It’s late.”

  “Ian came by. We talked.” Yawning so wide her jaw cracked, Leesa wiggled into her nightgown and slid onto the bed next to Hope, who didn’t move a muscle. “When things settle down, he wants to get married. He wants me to move to Kansas with him.”

  “That’s . . . wunderbarr. I’m so happy for you.” Mercy hugged her book to her chest. She would miss her sister terribly, but her happiness was far more important. “Have you said anything to Mudder?”

  “Nee, it’s a secret until we talk to the deacon. You can’t say anything.”

  “I won’t.” Sisters kept secrets. Especially this one. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Leesa tugged the sheet up around her neck. “I’ll try. I’m so wound up, I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

  “Does Ian . . . I mean, do you . . . are you and him . . . ?”

  Leesa sat up. “Goodness. Spit it out, Schweschder. What’s got you all tongue-tied?”

  “Did Ian kiss you? Before he asked you to marry him? Did he . . . touch you?”

  “Of course he did.” Leesa giggled. The giggles stopped. “Didn’t Caleb?”

  “Nee. Not once.”

  “Now I get it. I’m sorry, Schweschder.” Leesa sighed. She rolled over and closed her eyes. “Can you lower the light? I’m . . .”

  Two seconds later she was snoring. Mercy didn’t bother to turn down the kerosene lantern. She flipped the page in her book and settled against the wall. At least she wasn’t crazy. She was simply confused.

  Sobs filtered through the open door. She laid the book down and cocked her head. The sound, muffled this time, seeped into the room from the hallway. She grabbed her hair, twisted it in a knot, and stuck it under the collar of her nightgown. On tiptoes she slipped from the room.

  Two doors down, the sobs had turned to sniffles. She peeked into the room shared by Seth, Job, and Levi. The boys had squeezed a bunk bed in next to the double bed. The only other furniture was a dresser. Light from the street shone through a single window.

  Levi curled in a ball in the bunk bed, sound asleep, but Job sat straight up, his arms wrapped around a pillow as big as his six-year-old body. He laid his head on the pillow and hiccupped a sob.

  “What’s the matter, Bruder?” Mercy whispered as she eased onto the bed. Levi had a penchant for waking in the middle of the night to play with his wooden blocks for an hour or two before he returned to bed. “Why are you crying?”

  “I don’t think Nickle and Dime ran away. I think the fire killed them.” Tears ran down his chubby cheeks. “All the deer and the elk and the antelope and the mountain lion don’t have homes anymore. They’re just like us, homeless.”

  “They’re fine, Bruder. Animals are smarter than humans. They know exactly what to do when fire comes.” Mercy spoke truth. Animals had been dealing with forest fires since the beginning of time. True, some fires were started by humans, but others began from natural causes that cleaned up the forest floors and created room for new life to flourish. “It’s hard to understand when you’re six. Or twenty-two, for that matter, but Daed’s right. Your bunnies are fine.”

  “I want Lola.”

  “Lola can take care of herself.” Cats were natural scavengers, and Lola had been a feral cat before she showed up at their back door in Kootenai, searching for scraps. “Lola would want you to get some sleep so you’ll be ready for school tomorrow.”

  “I want my bed. The roof makes squeaky noises here, and the sheets smell different.”

  “We can’t always have what we want.” Almost never. Job was learning this hard lesson much earlier than Mercy. She was spoiled. And ungrateful. “Lie down and I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep.”

  “Can you sing me a song?”

  “If you want.”

  “What are you doing in here?” Seth tromped into the room. She couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, but he sounded as cranky as his six-year-old brother. “Are you like Goldilocks, trying out all the beds?”

  “Just checking on the little ones. Job is having trouble sleeping.”

  “He’s too old for that.” Seth slapped his hat on the dresser. His curly brown hair stood on end. “I can’t believe I have to go to school tomorrow.”

  “This is your last year.” Mercy hugged Job and kissed his silky hair. “You should take advantage to learn as much as possible.”

  “I’d rather be with Daed and my bruders. They’re going hunting. Even Leesa is going. Daed figures we shouldn’t waste this time. Mudder can put up meat for the winter in this kitchen just as gut as at home.”

  No wonder Seth was out of sorts. He loved to hunt. They all did. “Did you ask?”

  “He said the Ordnung is the Ordnung. Wherever we live.”

  “Maybe this weekend you and I can have a turn.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “See there.”

  “Jah, Teacher.” Seth’s tone softened. He chuckled. “It’s very strange to have a schweschder for a teacher sometimes. Here you are talking to me in your nightgown and tomorrow you’ll tell me I have to write an essay or spell some stupid word like parsnip.”

  “Parsnip is an easy word to spell—”

  “You know what I mean.”

  It was weird. But they’d adjusted to it. “Good night.”

  “Feel free to oversleep in the morning,” Seth called after her. “We can always start school late.”

  No, they couldn’t. Somehow they had to find some semblance of normalcy in this place. Even if the comforters smelled like dryer sheets and the beds were so soft a person sank to the bottom or an entire wall of books called her name.

  Not even if nothing—not even Mother’s sourdough bread—tasted the same.

  This life was temporary.

  A new life lurked around the corner and down the road. If only it would quit messing around and get here so she could breathe again.

  16

  Eureka, Montana

  Fourteen children from age six to thirteen stared at Mercy, their faces expectant. Far from the twenty-seven who normally joined her at the beginning of a school day. So much had changed since Wednesday. Their entire world had tilted and spun on its side. Many of the desks were empty, silent testimony to the scattering of families across northwest Montana due to the fire. Some were staying with f
riends and family in Rexford, Libby, St. Ignatius, or wherever they could. Despite the September sun outside, the garage seemed dank and shadowy. Should she turn the light on? What did the Ordnung say about that?

  Summoning a smile, she lit the kerosene lantern sitting on her solid oak desk. She ran her fingers over the scarred wood, took a breath, and let her gaze flow over her scholars. “Guder mariye, scholars.”

  “Guder mariye, Teacher.”

  The response was as halfhearted as her own effort. Job sank farther into his seat. Seth leaned over and whispered something to his friend Zeke, the only other boy his age. Zeke smirked. Only Hope smiled. Her cheerful face sent shame coursing through Mercy. The teacher should set the example. “Come now. It’s Friday, the last day of the week. You’ll have all weekend to rest up. Today, we study. Whose turn is it to pick the songs?”

  “Teacher, it smells like car in here.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “And something moldy.”

  “I have the window and the door open. The breeze will air it out. Besides, you’ll get used to the smells.”

  “I like the schoolhouse better.” Job leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He’d been crabby and tearful at the breakfast table. He didn’t touch his oatmeal, which irritated Father, who didn’t eat much either. “This is a garage. You park cars in a garage.”

  “Plain people don’t park cars anywhere.” Her eyes bright with anticipation, Hope picked up her pencil and tapped it on her composition notebook. “We can have school anywhere, can’t we, Mercy, I mean, Teacher?”

  That was Hope. The eternal optimist. Like their father.

  “We can and we shall. Come, we’ll practice our English by singing ‘How Great Thou Art’ and then ‘Jesus Loves the Little Children.’ Then we’ll get started with our reading for first through third, math for fifth through eighth.”

  Their groans weren’t audible, but some couldn’t keep their distress from their faces. Academic subjects didn’t seem to have much meaning when fires threatened their homes.

  “After that it will be time to work on essays. The topic of the essays will be My Favorite Frolic This Summer. This will be your first essay since we returned to school. Give me your best handwriting, your best grammar, and make it clean and neat. I want to see how much you forgot over the summer.”

  The essay would also give them the chance to think about something besides their current circumstances. Maybe they would realize those frolics would happen again. Whether it was canning vegetables from the garden, quilting, building a new shop, or clearing a piece of property for a bigger garden, the frolics would happen because their friends and family were still there, alive and well.

  She should take a page from this lesson.

  The children sang with gusto and the words of “How Great Thou Art” filled the room. The lyrics were difficult for the little ones, but what they lacked in pronunciation they made up for with enthusiasm. English hymns were fun because they moved so much more quickly than the Plain hymns. Mercy joined them.

  Doodles wandered through the open garage door. Still singing, Mercy trotted down the single aisle between the girls’ and boys’ desks. Endeavoring to not miss a note, she shooed at him.

  Doodles lifted his snout and sniffed. His silly mutt face widened into a smile. Dogs smiled, didn’t they? “Shoo, go on, go on, hund.”

  The singing broke down. The children giggled and pointed. “Doodles wants to learn Englisch too.” Hope leaned over and snapped her fingers. “Sit next to me, Doodles. You can help me write my essay.”

  The other children tittered.

  If it lifted their spirits, maybe a dog in the classroom was a good idea.

  Doodles licked Hope’s fingers, then her face. She squealed. “Stop it, you silly goose.”

  “He’s not a goose, he’s a hund.” That from Job, who slipped from his seat and scampered to his sister’s side. For the first time in days, his chubby face lit up in a grin. “I want him to sit with me.”

  Control was slipping away. “Go back to your seat, Job. Doodles will sit with me while you work on your papers. You can play with him during lunch.”

  She grabbed the dog’s collar and tugged. Doodles planted his behind on the floor and refused to move. She tugged harder. He responded with a low whine.

  “What is wrong with you, hund? Let’s go.”

  He stood, raised his snout, sniffed, and barked.

  This would not do. No barking in the classroom. “Hush.”

  His claws clickety-clacking on the cement floor, he bolted toward the driveway.

  Maybe that was for the best. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

  His barking turned to soft woofs. The kind that signaled a welcome usually reserved for a friend.

  Curiosity and a certain longing on their faces, the children, from littlest to biggest, swiveled to peer outside. Mercy sighed and trotted to the back of the garage for a second time.

  Bedraggled and somewhat worse for wear, Lola the cat pranced toward her. Tail high, she stalked past Doodles and straight to Mercy, where she wound herself around Mercy’s feet with a pitiful meow.

  “Where have you been, kitzn?” Mercy scooped the ragged tabby into her arms. Lola’s orange fur was caked with mud and other stinky remnants of who knew what. A scratch across her eye and another on the white patch over her nose made her look like a wounded soldier. Or Spencer McDonald. Where had that thought come from? “Did you bump into a tree or get into a fight?”

  Lola yawned and then yowled, the complaint obvious in her screechy dialect.

  “It’s Lola. She’s back, she’s back.”

  Job rushed from the garage, followed by the other students, who crowded around Mercy. Everyone wanted to pet the wayward cat. “Easy, easy, you’ll scare her into running again.” Mercy handed the skinny bag of bones, fur, and teeth to Job. “She has some wounds but nothing that appears life threatening.”

  Mercy stood back. With amazing care and soft touches, the children took turns welcoming Lola to her new, temporary home.

  “How do you think she found us?” Hope put her hand to her forehead as she squinted up at Mercy. “She’s never been here before.”

  “I don’t know. Instinct. Scent. Process of elimination.”

  Would Father say it was God’s provision? Job needed his animals around him. He’d lost Nickle and Dime. Which might seem a small loss compared to the house, but to a little boy suddenly without a home, those little losses loomed big. His sense of security had been ripped away.

  The essay could wait.

  Arithmetic and spelling could wait.

  Making little boys and girls feel secure in their new world was far more important.

  17

  Eureka, Montana

  The unusual September heat outside the Eureka High School had nothing on the heat in the auditorium caused by the churning emotions of West Kootenai folks affected by the Caribou Fire. Mercy stuck close to her father, mother, and brothers as they squeezed into the last row of seats next to the Beachys and the Masts. Leesa had stayed back with the little ones. Nora and Christine immediately forced their brothers and sisters to rearrange so they could sit next to Mercy. Three days had passed since the evacuation, and it was obvious from the steady murmur that people wanted questions answered.

  “We’ve been dying to talk to you.” Excitement made Nora’s pretty cheeks pink. She wiggled in her seat. Her dark-blue eyes were wide. “We heard about your house. We’re so sorry.”

  Nora often spoke for Christine, who mostly didn’t get a word in edgewise, but this time Christine added a one-armed hug around Mercy’s shoulders. “I’ve been praying.”

  “I know you also lost several buildings.”

  “But not our homes.” Nora squeezed Mercy’s hand. “Which is why I don’t understand why we have to go to Libby for a while.”

  “You’re headed to Libby?” Tired from a sleepless night and a day spent in the garage-turned-classroom with her students, Mercy sank lower into her seat. Chris
tine and Nora had been her best friends since they were old enough to trot around barefoot in saggy diapers chasing kittens who knew better than to be caught in their sticky, plump hands. So said their mothers. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Stupid thing to say. It wasn’t up to any of them. They were unmarried and living in their parents’ homes. That summed it up. Her expression resigned, Nora shrugged. “Mudder says it’ll be good for groossmammi and groossdaadi to have us around to help out. I’m pretty sure what she really thinks is I might learn something about the old ways from them.”

  “Doesn’t your groossdaadi drive?”

  “Jah, but Groossmammi still embraces the old ways.”

  “Isn’t she worried you might end up evangelical?” No meanness permeated Christine’s words. The Libby Amish were different. They’d left Kootenai to worship the way they saw fit. Mercy didn’t know much about it—her parents saw to that—but many of Nora’s extended family members embraced the new way of thinking while still calling themselves Amish. “My parents won’t let me visit my cousins.”

  “Maybe they think we’ll rub off on them.”

  Plain folks never lost hope for those family members who had strayed.

  “I was hoping you both could come over for a visit.” Mercy missed being down the street from her two best friends. “I’m teaching school in Grandma Knowles’s garage now. I thought it would be fun for you to stop by tomorrow and help out.”

  “We’re leaving for St. Ignatius tomorrow.” Christine’s shoulders slumped. “My family is moving back to Kansas. They’re dropping me off at my aenti’s to help in the store. After a visit, they’ll go on to Haven.”

  “Nee!” Mercy squealed in unison with Nora. “They can’t. You can’t.”

  “St. Ignatius isn’t far. At least I don’t have to go to Kansas.”