by Kelly Irvin
Mercy would be teaching, but she had asked Juliette to stop by. So here she was. The garage door stood open. A dozen or so children faced the interior. It had to be warm in there. No fan to stir the air. No breeze.
The tick-tick of the engine lulled her. She knew and loved every nook and cranny of this house, from the dusty green eaves to the basement filled with canned goods ranging from green beans to pickled beets to peach jam to cherry pie filling, all grown in Nana’s backyard garden and on her trees. Juliette grew up sleeping in an upstairs bedroom in the canopy bed her Aunt Tina had slept in as a child. She played with toys in the attic that had belonged to her dad and Tina. In the fall she and her brothers raked leaves, and Grandpa gave them each two quarters. In winter they shoveled snow and received a dollar for their efforts, along with hot cocoa and Nana’s gingerbread cookies.
How sweet it would be to curl up in that bed now and wake up to the smell of Nana’s pumpkin pie baking. To have Nana dance with her to Frank Sinatra music. To sit on the rug and listen to Nana tell stories about how Daddy did this or that as a child.
To be innocent and pure and untouched by ugliness.
Those days were gone.
It all seemed a million years ago. Grandpa Knowles’s funeral was Juliette’s first. Then Nana’s two years later. But the emaciated, shrunken lady they laid to rest bore little resemblance to Nana. She’d been round and twinkly and full of sass until Grandpa died. After that she faded away piece by piece, day by day, tear by tear.
Get out.
Lethargy stole her motivation.
Move.
Juliette climbed from the cab and dragged herself to the edge of the garage. Mercy stood in front of a group of her smaller students—her scholars as she called them. They were taking turns reading to her in English. They were adorable with their bowl haircuts, suspenders, and little aprons. Some of the older kids bent over their desks, pencils in hand, lips pursed, writing in composition notebooks. A third group gathered around a portable dry-erase board. They took turns writing multiplication problems on the board and solving them. One by one, they chanted their multiplication tables. Organized chaos.
How did she do it? Mercy was so unassuming in her dress and her manner but so self-assured when it came to teaching. She would never say as much, but she had a calling. Juliette’s throat clogged with unshed tears. Everybody needed a calling. A reason to get up in the morning.
Enough with the hormones already.
She swallowed hard and waited for Mercy to notice her.
A second later she did and a smile bloomed. That’s when a person received a true picture of Mercy’s nature. Her smile could vanquish the worst bad mood. Juliette returned the smile.
“Kinner, we have company. Say good morning to Juliette.”
Fourteen heads swiveled. Smiles and giggles followed.
“Good morning, Juliette.” Fourteen sweet, high voices chimed in unison.
“Good morning, scholars.” Juliette edged between the desks and wooden shelves laden with a dusty Weed Eater, old cans of house paint, oil, and a hodgepodge of tools. “Don’t let me stop your studies. I’m here to observe.”
“Scholars, why don’t you recite your memory verse for this week for our visitor?”
The children who were sitting stood. They turned to face Juliette.
“‘Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out, when the times of refreshing shall come from the presence of the Lord.’ Acts 3:19.”
King James English from the mouths of babes. Juliette clapped in amazement. Did a person clap for verses in an Amish school? She stopped. The kids grinned their appreciation.
“Teacher, can we sing a song for Juliette?” A little girl missing two front teeth lisped the question.
Mercy smiled. “One song and then we’ll get back to our studies.”
Fourteen childish, high voices lifted in the sweetest rendition of “Jesus Loves Me” Juliette had ever heard. The pounding in her head eased. Her stomach stopped with the somersaults.
“That was beautiful.” She clapped again. “Thank you for sharing with me.”
“Time to get back to work.” Her expression firm but ever kind, Mercy assigned one of the older girls to help the little ones read. Then she and Juliette moved behind her desk where Mercy picked up her coffee mug and sipped. Her eyes were red and surrounded by dark circles.
“You look like death warmed over.” Juliette took the cup from her and sipped. “Yuck, you forgot the cream and sugar.”
“I needed it black this morning and thank you very much.” Mercy rolled her eyes and sighed. “It was a long weekend and I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“For me too.” Juliette hesitated. She handed the cup back to her friend. “I did something stupid.”
“I think I did too.”
Juliette nodded toward the back of the garage. Mercy led the way. They stepped into the sun just beyond the garage door and stood so Mercy could keep an eye on her students.
“You first.” Mercy raised her face to the sun and inhaled. “I’m still half asleep.”
“I went to Ballcap’s Saturday night. I drank a few beers.”
“That was two days ago. You still have bloodshot eyes and dark circles around your eyes.” Mercy’s words held no judgment. “Why did you do it? Because of Tim?”
“The house. The job. Tim. My life.”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
Mercy hugged her arms against her chest. “I’m only human. I try so hard to believe the way my mother and father do. But things happen and I find myself doubting. I would never tell anyone that but you—”
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Juliette studied Mercy’s face. She seemed more than tired. “What happened?”
“Spencer McDonald came by Saturday night. He said he was out for a walk and just happened to pass by, but I don’t think that’s true.”
“What did you do?”
“I went for a walk with him. I walked. He had a knee scooter he used.”
“It was just a walk.” Juliette considered the sudden pink that imbued Mercy’s cheeks. “Wasn’t it?”
“He’s different from any man I’ve ever known.”
“He is different, but you’ve led a sheltered life.” Juliette leaned against the garage corner and contemplated the silky heads of innocent children. Had she ever been that innocent? Had Spencer? “What did you two talk about that has you blushing like a middle school kid?”
“Nothing. Everything. Teaching. Amish beliefs. His beliefs. His mother. Life.”
“Whoa. For a first date, that’s pretty deep.”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know. It felt . . . like friendship.”
“Spencer came calling for you. He sought you out at the high school and he sought you out here.” Juliette tried to soften her barrage of words. Mercy might be a teacher and a grown woman, but she had little experience with men. “That could be sort of scary. Or if you were me, exciting. But you’re not me, so . . .”
“He was nice. Not scary.” Mercy chewed on a hangnail, her expression clearly troubled, despite her words. “He said I reminded him of someone. He said I had soulful eyes.”
“Holy Toledo.”
“Juliette, hush!” Mercy glowered and put her index finger to her lips. “The scholars.” Her face crumpled.
Something about her slumped posture set off alarms. “Something else happened, didn’t it?”
“We got back to the house and Caleb was sitting in the driveway, waiting.”
“Whoops!”
Some of the students swiveled and craned their heads.
“Keep working, scholars.” Mercy glowered at Juliette. “Hush.”
“Sorry. Mama Mia. What did you do?”
“I tried to explain, but he left. Then Spencer met my daed.”
Double whoops. Jonah could bring a boy to his knees with hi
s double-barreled glare. “Did he take a switch to you? Or to Spencer?”
“Of course not.” Mercy tsked. “They were polite. But as he passed me on his scooter, he whispered, ‘Let’s do it again.’ Or something like that. Right in front of my dad.”
“He’s a bad boy.”
“He’s not. He’s been through . . . some bad things.”
“His mom’s an alcoholic.”
“I know. He told me.” Mercy sighed. “I feel so bad for Caleb. I hate that I hurt him.”
“I knew it. You do have a thing for Caleb.” Why did Mercy keep pushing him away? She could be married by now instead of walking the streets with a guy who would only cause her pain and separate her from her family. “You need to tell him you have no intention of taking a walk with Spencer again.”
“I don’t know if I’ll get the chance.”
“Make it happen. You’re a very smart woman.”
Mercy’s hug was fierce and so long Juliette fought the desire to collapse into her friend’s arms. “A girl needs friends like you,” she whispered into Mercy’s shoulder. “Nobody better mess with you.”
Mercy leaned back and stared. “Are you crying? What’s wrong? So you broke your own rule about drinking Saturday night. Today is a new day. You won’t do it again.”
“It’s not that.” Juliette didn’t have the wherewithal to tell her story again. Not twice in twenty-four hours. It would suck the sweetness from Mercy. She didn’t need this ugliness in her life. Especially now with her house gone. Juliette glanced at her phone. “Isn’t it lunchtime?”
“I suppose it is.”
Mercy trotted to the front of the makeshift classroom. “It’s time for lunch and recess. Let’s take our lunch boxes into the backyard. Volleyball after you eat, but take your time and eat slowly. I don’t want anyone choking on a sandwich because he’s in a hurry to play.”
An actual problem from the knowing concern shot at Jeremy Plank.
Thirty minutes for lunch. Thirty minutes for play. That’s how Mercy intended it, but the children, seated in the grass in the shade of maple and peach trees, their lunch boxes scattered among them, inhaled their lunches in less than fifteen minutes. Gales of childish laughter filled Nana’s backyard once again.
A sense of déjà vu assailed Juliette. Grandma and Grandpa never removed the swing set, even after Courtney grew too old or too cool for it. The volleyball net that had been stowed in the garage now split the remaining yard in half. Happy children set free from the confines of desks and books proceeded to play as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
No fire threatened to make a second pass at their homes.
No waiting to see what was left of their life in Kootenai.
No separation from friends and family staying in other parts of the Northwest.
No worries.
Children had an amazing ability to live in the moment. They had an innate resilience.
How and when did it become lost?
When someone violated that innocence and threw it away like a piece of junk?
Could it be regained?
It was worth a try.
The PB and J Mercy shared with Juliette, the tart green Granny Smith apple so juicy its sweet nectar ran down her cheek, and the cinnamon spice chewy goodness of a homemade oatmeal-raisin cookie made her stomach forget about its usual pain. Lola wandered across the yard, hopped onto the table, and nosed at Juliette’s paper plate.
“How are you adjusting to your digs, sweet thing?” She ran her fingers through silky fur. The kitten purred. “Nana loved cats. Sunflower and Pebbles were her last two, before she died. They liked to sit on this table and sun.”
“She was a sweet lady. I remember when she came out to visit in Kootenai and brought us all popcorn balls and candy canes for Christmas.”
“She was the best nana ever.” Juliette’s throat closed. The memories were sweet. If her parents were right, Nana and Gramps were in a better place. No more tears. No more pain. To believe that would be such a relief. “I’ve eaten hundreds of grilled hot dogs at this table. I miss her so much.”
“I miss my granny too, but I think about her being able to walk with no pain from her arthritis and her heart being strong again, and I know it’s selfish to want her back here.” Mercy held out the crusts from her sandwich. Doodles loped across the yard from where he’d been begging for food from the kids. He swooped in and took the crusts without pausing. “Don’t ever turn your back on this guy. He’ll steal your food right off your plate.”
“I have a sister who does that.” Juliette held out her bread crusts. Doodles sniffed, offered her a pensive stare, then snatched the bread from her fingers. He proceeded to plop at her feet as if exhausted from the effort. “He actually reminds me a lot of Courtney.”
“You’re so funny. You love your sister and you know it.”
“Like I love to pick at a scab.”
“Gross!”
They both laughed. Juliette used her fingertips to round up the last cookie crumbs from her paper plate and dropped them on her tongue. Emma approached and touched her denim shorts. “Teacher’s friend, do you want to play ring-around-the-rosy with us?” Emma had enough freckles across her nose and cheeks for three kids. Her lavender dress brought out the purple flecks in her sapphire eyes. She was enchanting.
Without answering, Juliette stood and allowed herself to be tugged into the circle of first and second graders.
All-fall-down.
This was a safe place to fall.
“Teacher’s friend—”
“It’s Juliette.”
“Juliette, come play volleyball with us.”
So she did. She shucked off her cowboy boots. The grass was cool and soft under her bare feet. Her high school prowess at the game returned quickly. Laughing and breathless, she leaped in the air and spiked the ball.
“No fair, they have a ringer.” Mercy’s laugh said she didn’t really mind. “Take pity on us poor folks.”
“Take no prisoners.”
Juliette’s side won, but nobody really cared.
“It’s time to get back to class.” Mercy’s face glistened with perspiration and happiness. “Gather up your lunch boxes and walk—don’t run—back to the garage.”
To their credit, not one child argued. Juliette opened her mouth and closed it. She fell into line behind the older kids and marched back to the garage. Mercy winked at her. She grinned and winked back. “That was fun.”
“I love lunch and recess.”
Mercy whispered the words but Hope grinned. “Teachers aren’t supposed to be sad when recess is over.”
“Shush.”
At the garage door Juliette paused, her boots in one hand. “I should get out of your hair.” She couldn’t think of where she would go next. Home where her mom would want to talk more was out of the question. The one person she wanted to tell about her morning in Nana’s backyard wasn’t talking to her. Ever again.
The profound sense of loss knocked her a step back. She swayed.
Mercy took her arm and steadied her. “Why don’t you stay? I have an idea.”
A preposterous idea. Mercy wanted Juliette to stand in as the teacher.
“I don’t know jack about teaching.”
“I finished school at the end of eighth grade. You have a college education. My native language is Deutsch. Yours is English, which they are expected to learn. You used to keep your dad’s books for his horse sales and the mechanic shop. I do basic multiplication and division. You are more qualified to teach than I am.”
“To teach Amish kids? Won’t your dad have something to say about this? The school board? The bishop?”
“I don’t know. It’s an experiment, a short one, meant to gain insight, and as such, it will do no harm.” Mercy squinted as if trying to see the future. “If they do, I’ll beg forgiveness.”
The children might beg to differ.
“Please, Juliette. Teach us,” Emma and Hope and Josiah clamored. The
others joined in. “Please, Juliette.”
Or not.
Shoulder against the wall, Juliette tugged on her boots. A woman wearing cowboy boots could do anything. She strode to the front of the classroom. “You asked for it.”
Their expectant, shiny, pink-cheeked faces stared at her. Waiting for her to impart wisdom and learning.
She wiped her sweaty hands on her shorts and took a breath. “Let’s start with English. How many of you know the words to the song ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game?’”
No one. “Perfect. Here’s how it goes.”
After that she divided them into teams to play Bible Trivia, a game her parents insisted on playing on snow days. Amazing how well she remembered the stories.
From there, it was time to see who knew their multiplication tables the best among the older kids, while the younger ones drew pictures of their families and labeled each picture in English.
Finally, they had an English spelling bee, divided into age groups, to be fair.
The time passed so quickly, Juliette was surprised when Mercy waved from her seat in the back and pointed at the clock on the desk.
“And that’s a wrap!”
Their faces perplexed, the students didn’t move.
“It’s time to go home. Shoo, go, run like the wind.” Juliette stopped short of saying “See you tomorrow,” although the words were on the tippy-toes of her tongue. “It’s been fun. Thank you for having me.”
“You’re welcome.” They spoke in unison and then they spilled out of their desks and raced for the driveway and freedom.
The familiar memory drifted by. The bell rang and she shot down the hall and out the door to freedom and sunlight and an afternoon ride on one of her dad’s horses. Or mucking the stalls or sitting on a stool watching him roll under a Chevy to fix something or other. All greasy and sweaty and busy but still asking her about her day.
“You did great.” Mercy trotted behind her desk. “How did it feel?”
“Gut.”
Mercy laughed. “Don’t get too assimilated. You want to teach them, not vice versa.”
“What did you think? Too much competitive stuff? I know you Amish people aren’t into competition.”
“Have you seen our baseball games?” Mercy straightened desks and chairs as she talked. “They learned from you. That’s important. A variety of teaching methods keeps them interested. We have to have time for written lessons and lectures, but there’s nothing wrong with something fresh and different.”