Mountains of Grace

by Kelly Irvin

  The screen door opened. Carrying two glasses of lemonade, Daed elbowed the door so he could navigate through. “I can’t get over the size of that refrigerator . . .”

  He stopped so abruptly lemonade sloshed over the sides of the glasses and splashed his dusty work boots. “Where’s Caleb and who are you?” He wore his wrinkled, faded work shirt and pants, but his suspenders hung down the back of his pants. Without his glasses and his straw hat, his face was stripped naked except for his unruly iron-gray beard. He looked like old, worn leather. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  “It’s not the middle of the night. I reckon it’s about eleven o’clock.” Mercy kept her voice soft and respectful. She was in enough trouble. She introduced Spencer. “He’s a smoke jumper, but he was injured on the job. He was just telling me about how they fight the fires and the reasons why this fire isn’t out yet. Why they couldn’t keep it from burning our house down.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Yoder.” Spencer tipped his Rockies cap at Mercy. “I enjoyed our walk. I’ll get out of your hair now and let you get some rest.”

  Suddenly bereft of words and acutely aware of her father’s piercing stare, Mercy nodded.

  “No need for formality. It’s Jonah.” The grudging words didn’t change her father’s expression. “Good night.”

  Spencer’s scooter brought him rather closer to her than necessary. His head ducked and turned toward her. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.” The whisper floated on a breeze suddenly warmer than it had been the moment before.

  No way to respond with her father only feet away.

  She swallowed and forced herself not to sneak a peek at his retreating figure, not to memorize his broad shoulders or the way his dark curls escaped under the back of his cap.

  Instead, she summoned her best smile and traipsed toward her dad. “I could use one of those lemonades if you’re offering.”

  “What are you doing, Dochder?” His thunderous expression punctuated his next words: “We may be in the city, but we’re still the Plain community of Kootenai. The Ordnung hasn’t changed.”

  “I know that.” Her thoughts scattered like raindrops in a stormy gale. “There was nothing untoward about it. He was out walking. I was sitting here when he walked by. He suggested we walk together. I was interested in conversation with a firefighter. I had questions.”

  The truth, but not the entire truth. God would strike her dead.

  “Pull up a chair, Dochder.” Daed plopped into the lawn chair. The old leather changed into a hard tree stump. “There’s no way I’ll sleep now. Or you either, I suspect.”

  Mercy did as she was told. Seated next to him with a view of the starry night sky peeking through the tree branches, she took the second glass of lemonade and drank. The sweet but tart lukewarm liquid eased the ache in her throat. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”

  “Life is turned upside down. No one knows that better than me.” His free hand stroking his beard, he stared up at the firmament. “But this is the time to cling to our beliefs and our way of life.”

  “I don’t understand. I wish I were strong like you.”

  “I’m not strong.” His voice cracked. He took a long draught of lemonade. “I know that in all things Gott works for our gut. It’s not for us to question how or why. His plan will be revealed. I’m not a fair-weather believer. Scripture tells us in this life there will be trouble. This trouble is small. We’re all alive and we’re together, by Gott’s grace. We have nothing to complain about.”

  His conviction made her complaints seem puny and petty. “My head knows what you say is true. It’s my heart that has trouble with it.”

  “You’re our born learner. That’s why you became a teacher. Your mind is always working. But sometimes there’s no figuring things out.” His voice hardened. “Sometimes you have to hush up and buckle down under the weight of your burdens. Accept them.”

  “I know.” Nothing in his lecture told her how to harness the feelings of anger. Anger with God. One couldn’t be angry with God. Not and be Plain.

  Yet here she sat.

  “You won’t find what you’re seeking for in an Englisch man.”

  “I’m not trying to find anything with Spencer.”

  “You’re not to see him again.”

  “I’m not seeing him.” She chewed on her lip. “Am I not still free to do as I see fit? I’ve been baptized, but I’m still single. Still searching.”

  “The letter of the law.” He drew lines in the condensation on his glass. “Your mudder and I want what is best for you. We understood, or we tried to understand, when you broke it off with Caleb—”

  “He broke it off with me.”

  “Because you turned down his proposal.”

  Kootenai’s grapevine worked like spreading, smothering kudzu. “Did you love Mudder the first time you saw her, or did your love grow?”

  Such a private thing. Surely her father would rebuff the question as too personal. Or maybe the starlight and the moon would mesmerize him into revealing such a special memory to his daughter. It had been a strange night already—why not one more startling revelation?

  He wiggled in his chair, leaned over, and set the glass on the cement, then settled back with his hands over his paunch. “That’s a question better asked of your mudder.”

  Disappointment welled.

  “But I will say this, once I saw your mudder at the singing, there was no other.”

  “Did you know her before?”

  “I suppose I did. At school. But a person has to be in that frame of mind. That time of life when you’re seeking it.”

  Looking for love. Perhaps the dark of night was the best time to discuss such a thing with a man like her father, who confined his conversations to weather, wood, and God’s will. “That’s all I’m doing.”

  “But you’ll not do it with an Englischer.”

  “I’m not—”

  He picked up his glass and stood. “Tomorrow is another day. You have work to do and so do I.”

  Mercy followed him into the house and into the kitchen where she washed the glasses and put the lemonade in the refrigerator. Wiping her hands on a towel, she turned to find him still standing in the doorway. “What, Daed?”

  “Doing Gott’s will is what is best for you. Stay away from Spencer McDonald.”

  With that parting shot he left her.

  24

  Eureka, Montana

  Two turns through the empty streets of downtown Eureka and sleep still seemed a distant mirage. Anger marinated in adrenaline made Caleb’s body hum with a desire he didn’t recognize and didn’t dare acknowledge. He wanted to hit something. Plain men did not entertain such notions. They were not fighters. They didn’t go to war. Not even for love of a good woman. Mercy was a good woman. More complicated than most. Maybe too complicated for a simple woodworker who was happy with a piece of sandpaper in his hand and an occasional Western.

  He’d been stupid to take Juliette’s advice. Mercy turned him down two months ago. Nothing had changed.

  Including the depth of his feelings for her. No matter how he tried to deny them.

  He turned onto Third Street. Time to go home, whether he liked it or not. Dawn would come, whether he slept or not. Church attendance would be expected, fire and upheaval or not.

  In the middle of the next block, movement caught his gaze. And loud cursing. “Whoa, Snowy, whoa.”

  He peered into the darkness. The people on this block didn’t keep their porch or garage lights on. The closest streetlight glowed at the corner, its beams not stretching this far. “Do you need help?”

  “I’m fine.” More cuss words.

  “You don’t sound fine.” Stretching his neck, Caleb leaned from the buggy. “Spencer, is that you?”

  Spencer sprawled on the sidewalk. His fancy knee scooter lay on its side. “Yep, it’s me.”

  Caleb hopped from the buggy and tied the reins to the closest tree branch.
“Let me help you up.”

  “Why would you do that? A few minutes ago you were madder than a bull separated from all the cows by an enormous electric fence.”

  “I try not to let my human failings get in the way of being a decent human being.” Being the better man had its upside. But Plain men tried to never think of themselves as being a better anything. “You would do the same if it were me.” He righted the scooter and held his hand out to Spencer.

  With a grunt, the other man allowed Caleb to hoist him to his feet. “Thanks.” He swayed and grabbed the scooter handle with one hand. Grimacing, he laid the splinted fingers across his chest. His breathing came in short, painful bursts.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s dark. I was daydreaming and didn’t see where the sidewalk buckled. Tree roots, I guess.”

  “Ouch. Let me give you a ride home.”

  “No need.”

  “Your scooter has a bent wheel. You appear to be hurting.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “No one has to know you took a tumble, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I jumped out of an airplane and managed to hit a tree instead of an open meadow.” Spencer’s laugh was more of a groan. “I’m not too worried about people thinking I’m clumsy.”

  Spending time alone with Mercy’s suitor didn’t rank high on Caleb’s list of pastimes. Sometimes a person had to do things he didn’t want to do. Frequently. Rooming with Ian hadn’t been a picnic. “I’ll put your scooter in the buggy.”

  Without waiting for permission, he followed through. Then he grasped Spencer’s arm above the elbow. Despite his tight-lipped attempt to suppress it, Spencer groaned, but he managed to hop to the buggy and climb in.

  Caleb grabbed the reins and joined him. “Which way?”

  Between panting, Spencer provided directions. Silence ensued, broken only by the horse’s clip-clop of hooves on asphalt, the rattle of the harness, and the creak of the buggy wheels.

  Silence didn’t bother Caleb, but this was ridiculous. “How long will it take your leg to mend?”

  “Doc says I was lucky. Six weeks to three months.” His words didn’t match his dark stare. “In a few weeks I go back to see how the bone is healing.”

  “That’s gut.”

  Now what?

  Spencer cleared his throat. “About the scene back there at Mercy’s—”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “I know that. We were only talking, nothing more.”

  “A Plain woman doesn’t walk around town in the dark with an Englisch man.”

  “We were just talking. She makes good conversation.”

  That she did. About books and such. He’d never talked to her about feelings. He’d wanted to do it, but he simply didn’t know how. His family didn’t do it. “Make conversation with an Englisch woman. There are many of those around who’d be happy to talk with you.”

  “I like Mercy. She’s smart and thoughtful and different from most of those women you’re talking about. Deeper.”

  “This conversation is pointless.” Caleb pulled in front of the small A-frame house with flower boxes that ran the length of the narrow front porch. In the porch light, peonies, pansies, petunias, and miniature mums elbowed each other for first dibs at sunlight at dawn. He chose his next words carefully. “I’m asking you to let this go. Don’t attempt to take her from her family and the only life she’s ever known. It would be cruel. It would be wrong.”

  “I hardly know her. We just met.” Spencer eased from the buggy on his good leg. His shoulders hunched. “You’re reading way too much into a single walk around the neighborhood.”

  “I don’t think I am.” Caleb bounded from the buggy and removed the scooter before Spencer could shuffle to the back. One hand on the buggy, he paused and breathed. Caleb pushed the scooter closer. “Steer clear for her sake. Do the right thing.”

  “I don’t want to do anything that would hurt Mercy.” Spencer gripped the handles and bent his injured leg so he could place it on the seat. His knuckles turned white. He hopped slowly past Caleb. “I’ll think about what you said. No promises, though. A guy should be able to talk to a girl. Friend to friend.”

  Which went to show that Spencer McDonald didn’t understand the Amish. Caleb climbed into the buggy and headed to the RV.

  The Amish didn’t want any part of the rest of the world.

  The question was, did Mercy?

  25

  Eureka, Montana

  Heat scorched his face. Flames retracted, then loomed over him, closer and closer, dressed in thick, black, choking smoke. Embers seared the skin on the back of his bare neck and arms.

  Spencer struggled to pull his body from a fetal position. His muscles huddled in panicked refusal. The flames enveloped him.

  “No, no, no!” Hands on his head, he bolted upright. He fought off sheets damp with sweat.

  Pain blew through his leg. He doubled over.

  In slow motion, he lifted his head and opened his eyes to a dark, unfamiliar room. Angie’s spare bedroom.

  No fire.

  No smoke.

  No burning flesh.

  He sucked in air and breathed through the pain in his fingers, his ribs, and his leg. The cut on his forehead throbbed. Bruises up and down the left side of his body ached.

  It wasn’t so bad. Not like burns hurt. The screams of burn victims reverberated in his head.

  The nightmare showed up regularly. It had for years.

  Long before he started fighting fires.

  It had nothing to do with smoke jumping or his accident.

  Why tonight? Spencer gently lifted his leg and set his foot on the floor. Using the sheets, he wiped sweat from his hair, face, bare chest, and arms. He stank of sweat and fear. He lowered his head and closed his eyes.

  Tonight, because he’d told Mercy he started smoke jumping because he was interested in aircraft and working independently. True, but the real question had been, why did he become a firefighter?

  For that he had to rip bandages from old, unhealed wounds.

  Every time he spent time with Marnie, the wound seeped pain. Mercy said he had to forgive her. She was wrong. No one had to do anything.

  No focusing on the past. Only moving forward.

  He raised his head, grabbed the bedpost, and hoisted himself upright. The pain took his breath away.

  Breathe, in and out, in and out. One, two, three, four, in and out, in and out.

  After a few seconds, he grabbed a white T-shirt and tugged it on. Then he angled toward the abandoned crutches and scooped them up in midlimp. Tomorrow he’d see about getting the scooter repaired. He swung through the open bedroom door, down the hall, and into the living room.

  The fake Tiffany lamp on the end table next to his sister’s Amish-style hickory rocking chair bathed the sparsely furnished living room in a soft light. A threadbare sofa, a basket of toys, a Tonka truck, coloring books and crayons, and a Barbie doll decorated the faded but clean beige carpet. A small flat-screen TV hung from the wall.

  Angie sat at a folding card table in the corner, her back to him. Her laptop was open and she seemed absorbed in whatever its screen divulged.

  “Angie.” Hoping not to scare her, he whispered. “Why are you up?”

  She jumped three feet. Hand on her ample chest, she swiveled. “It’s the middle of the night. You scared me to death, Spence.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “You were snoring the last time I walked by your room. Nightmare?”

  “You have church tomorrow. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “The McDonalds have one thing in common. We don’t sleep.” She stretched both arms over her head and yawned. “With three kids, two jobs, and school, I’ve learned to get by.”

  She had that right. For different reasons, maybe, but none of them good. “They say staring at electronics makes it worse.”

  “When the kids are sleeping is the only time
I can do my classwork. That’s the advantage of doing online classes. They don’t care if it’s 1:00 a.m.” She shut the laptop and stood. “Want some hot tea or cocoa?”

  “It’s September.”

  “Warm liquids are supposed to help.”

  “Not so I noticed. Got any Ambien?” Not that he used sleep aids. The fear of addiction was far greater than the fear of long, empty nights. “Just kidding. What are you studying?”

  “I’d like to be a social worker when I grow up.” She sighed and pushed straggly magenta hair behind her ear. “But that means doing a practicum and some coursework on a campus somewhere. I need a master’s degree. It’s hard for me to imagine being able to do that. But with God, all things are possible. I say my prayers and know He’ll do whatever is best for me and my babies.”

  Was allowing her to grow up in the home of an alcoholic prone to blackouts best for her?

  “I can see you as a social worker.” She would pour herself heart and soul into the job and the people she wanted to help. And the bureaucracy would bleed her dry. “You have the heart for it with the gift of administration.”

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Angie removed her purple-framed glasses and wiped her eyes. “Rocky never complimented me. At least not after we got married and I gained thirty pounds.”

  “Rocky is a—”

  “Spencer! I’ll do with you what I do with Mom. For every cuss word she has to put a dollar in the jar. When there’s fifteen dollars in there, we go to McDonald’s for hamburgers and the kids get to play in the fun house.”

  “They must cheer every time she cusses.”

  “They know better than to do it in front of me.” She sank onto the couch and stuck her bare feet on the pillows at the other end. “Same old nightmare?”

  “Yep.” He hobbled to the recliner across from the sofa and plopped down so he could put the footrest up and elevate his leg. “Why would it be any different after all these years?”

  “Maybe if you confronted her, your subconscious would let it go and you could move past it.”