Abiding Mercy

by Ruth Reid

  “It’s okay.” Roslyn waved her inside. “If you don’t like lavender we can change the color.”

  “It’s beautiful.” The light-purple and green bedspread and matching pillows were offset by deep lavender walls. A white dresser and mirror sat opposite the bed with plenty of space to walk between. Flanking the bed were lamp tables and on the far side of the room was an inviting bay window seat. Her favorite piece of furniture was the white desk and chair. She could picture herself writing letters long into the night.

  “Your bathroom is over here.” Roslyn opened the door to the bathroom, which held a double-sink vanity, an oversized tub, and a separate glass shower area. Dark-purple towels hung from the towel rack, bringing out the tiny violet flowers in the wallpaper.

  “You have a walk-in closet to your right.” Roslyn opened the door and flipped the light.

  Faith didn’t know what a walk-in closet meant until she stepped inside the shelf-lined space. She turned a circle, eyeing all the room. The closet alone was big enough to hold a bed and nightstand.

  “There are more towels and washcloths in the linen cabinet. You’ll find soap and shampoo under the vanity. I’m going to find you something to wear to bed; I’ll be right back.” Roslyn left the room.

  Faith turned a few circles. This was what living in a castle was like. She flipped the different light switches on and off, then went into the bedroom and sat on the cushioned window seat.

  Roslyn returned with a nightgown, robe, and slippers. “Is there anything else I can get you before I leave?”

  Faith hesitated a moment. “Would it be possible to get a pen and paper? I’d like to write and let my family know I made it safely.”

  Roslyn’s smile faded. “Yes, of course.” She went to the desk, opened the top drawer, then removed writing supplies, including stamps and envelopes.

  “Thank you . . . for everything.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” Roslyn said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She closed the door.

  Faith took the nightclothes into the bathroom, washed up at the sink, and changed. The clothes were thin compared to the heavy cotton she slept in at home. Anxious to write a letter, she sat at the desk.

  Dear Mamm and Daed,

  She stared at the stationery, unable to find the words. It wasn’t that she lacked questions; she had plenty. Like how did she end up Amish? How did she get the name Faith? Did they even know she’d been kidnapped or that her birth parents had been searching for her for fifteen years? And most importantly, why did they hide the truth?

  The air-conditioning vent above her sent a chill to her bones. Faith wadded up the paper and tossed it in the trash can. She started a new page, this one to Gideon.

  Dear Gideon,

  I’m still confused with everything that’s happened. One minute I’m eating apple strudel and watching you chase the mare, and the next I’m whisked away downstate. They took blood samples at the police station. I was sure they had the wrong person, but I was wrong. I really am that girl in the paper. The one you said looked like me.

  Please pray for me. I’m having a hard time adapting to this new life.

  Faith

  Faith folded the paper and sealed the envelope. Tomorrow she would ask about mailing it. She slipped under the covers and closed her eyes. Visions of Gideon paraded in her head.

  Chapter 38

  Faith fluttered her eyes a few times as soft morning light filtered through the blinds. Her eyes shot open. She had overslept. She sprang out of bed, but it wasn’t until her bare feet landed on the plush carpet that her mind registered she wasn’t at home. She sat on the edge of the mattress, covered her face with her hands, and breathed in and out deeply. Get a hold of yourself. But despite her best efforts to steel her nerves, she failed. “Why, God?”

  When they took her away yesterday, she didn’t have time to collect her belongings—the most important, her Bible. She had to rely on the scriptures she’d memorized over the years, but her thoughts were scrambled and words wouldn’t come. In frustration, she lifted her arms in the air. “I surrender. Everything. The anger I feel toward Mamm and Daed. The lack of love I feel for mei new parents. Gideon . . .” She forced his name out with a groan. “Even Gideon. All to You, God. I lay mei burdens at Your feet.” She pushed off the bed. “This is a new day. I shall rejoice in You, Lord.” Faith winced under her conviction. “Truth is, I don’t know if I can be joyful. I’m supposed to accept Your will, but I need help accepting all that’s happened. Lord, this isn’t mei home. I feel bad for the Colepeppers . . . Please forgive me.”

  Faith went into the closet off the bathroom, removed her dress from the hanger, then washed up before putting it on. She found a hairbrush in the top vanity drawer and brushed her long hair. Once her prayer kapp was pinned in place, she padded down the stairs and followed the cheerful humming sounds coming from the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” Faith said.

  The older woman let out a screech the same time she jumped. She exhausted the sharp intake of air with ramblings in a language Faith didn’t understand.

  “I’m sorry I startled you,” Faith said.

  The gray-haired woman fanned her face with her hand. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, speaking English. “You up early.”

  Actually this was late for Faith, but she nodded. “Can I help?”

  “No—no—no, I got this.” She narrowed her eyes and made a strong suggestion to leave by shooing Faith with her hand. “I got this.”

  Faith lowered her head and turned.

  “You baby Adriana?”

  Faith pivoted around. “Yes.”

  “Welcome home. I’m Georgette,” she said, lifting the corners of her mouth into a brief smile. “You have important things to do. Not cooking, no. Lady of the house no cooking.”

  “I was a cook at our—a restaurant. I liked mei job.” She liked her life. “But I’ll get out of your way.” She hung her head and turned.

  “Eggs need scrambling,” Georgette said.

  Faith spun around. “I can do that.” She went to the sink and washed her hands, then proceeded to crack the eggs into a bowl. “What time do the Colepeppers usually have breakfast?”

  “Mr. Colepepper sometimes I no see. He leave early and come home late. I make green shake and leave for him. Mrs. Colepepper eat breakfast at eight. She also like green shake, but I make at lunch. Unless she has company, then she let me know what I make.”

  Preparing individual orders at different times of the day was like working in a restaurant, but Faith held her observation to herself and whisked the eggs.

  Georgette removed the milk jug from the refrigerator, splashed some in the egg mixture Faith was working on, then continued whatever she was doing at the blender. Just as Georgette had said, Brandon arrived first, dressed in a business suit. He set his briefcase on the stool before addressing or making eye contact with either of them. “Good morn—Adriana, I thought you would have wanted to sleep in today.”

  “I did.” She shrugged. “I normally get up at four so I can be in the restaurant by five to make the bread.”

  “Someone has to make the donuts, right?” He chuckled, but sobered quickly. “Oh, you’ve probably never seen the commercial for—never mind. How did you sleep?”

  “Very well, thank you. May I pour you a mug of kaffi?”

  Georgette leaned toward Faith and whispered, “Mr. Colepepper doesn’t drink coffee in the morning.”

  “Yes,” he said, moving his briefcase from the stool to the floor. “As long as you pour one for yourself and sit down.”

  Faith glanced at Georgette, who answered with her widened eyes as strongly as if she were shooing her away with her hands. “Okay.” She found the cups in the cabinet above the coffeepot and poured two mugs.

  “So what are your plans for today?” Brandon asked as she sat on the stool next to him.

  This was the first time since she could remember that she had no plans—n
othing to do. Usually if she had a day off from the restaurant, she cleaned the house, did the laundry, and worked in the garden. She always had something to do. “I don’t know.”

  Roslyn entered the kitchen dressed in tan pants that only went to her shins, brown sandals, and a bright-yellow shirt that made her tanned skin tone darker. “Good morning, everyone.” She sat next to Faith. “How did you sleep, Adriana?”

  “Very comfortably, thank you.” Faith sipped her coffee, feeling awkward that Georgette was doing all the work.

  “I told Chrisla we would meet her at Nordstrom at ten,” Roslyn said, briefly pausing to thank Georgette for the coffee. “We’ll have lunch with her, then I’m sure she’ll want to go with us to our hair and nail appointments. Tonight we’ll meet Brandon for dinner.” She leaned forward to look in her husband’s direction. “Seven work for you?”

  “Any time,” he said.

  “So we’ll say seven-ish at Kapprello’s Steakhouse. You do like steak, don’t you, Adriana?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean, Roslyn.”

  “Great. I can’t wait.” She sipped her coffee.

  Roslyn had spoken so fast, Faith couldn’t comprehend most of it. Except the hair and nails appointment. She wasn’t sure how to tell Roslyn, but she didn’t want fancy nails or someone changing her hair.

  Brandon left for work once Georgette blended his drink. Faith hadn’t watched everything that went into the shake, but it was certainly a spring-green color. Georgette served Faith next with scrambled eggs, a slab of ham, toast, and a large glass of milk. Roslyn’s plate of food was identical except Georgette forgot the toast.

  “I’ll share mei toast,” Faith said.

  Roslyn shook her head. “I don’t eat bread. It goes to my waist.”

  Faith wanted to remind her how she’d eaten the sourdough bread that she had made at the restaurant, but held her tongue. Her thoughts drifted to work. Catherine would have already baked the loaves for today. She took a drink of milk and cringed.

  “Something wrong?” Georgette cocked her head. “Milk sour?”

  “Nay.” Or at least Faith didn’t think so. “I’m nett used to store-bought milk. We drink it unpasteurized where I’m from,” she explained. The altered version coated her tongue with a bad taste. Maybe it had soured.

  Two hours later at the mall, Faith was jerked into a tight hug by a woman who introduced herself as Aunt Chrisla. The woman pushed back, eyeing Faith hard. “Adriana’s a younger version of you, Roz.”

  Roslyn smiled. “Much prettier version. She has Brandon’s sparkling eyes.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Aunt Chrisla said.

  Faith hadn’t noticed the resemblances, but then again, she’d been in denial and hadn’t looked for similarities. The height made sense. Mamm, Daed, even Olivia, were all shorter than her.

  Faith blushed as the two women went over each aspect of her parents’ features she had. A part of her wished, for Roslyn’s sake, she could share in the excitement.

  “I cannot get over how much she looks like the drawings,” Chrisla said.

  “Doesn’t she, though?” Roslyn glowed with pride. Pride she’d been denied so many years.

  Aunt Chrisla scanned the area. “Where shall we head first?”

  “Nordstrom. Adriana will need everyday outfits and a nice dress for the celebration. I wish we had time to take her shopping in New York.”

  Aunt Chrisla turned to Faith. “Have you ever been to New York?”

  “Nay.”

  “You’ll love it. The shops on Fifth Avenue are to die for.”

  Faith crinkled her nose.

  “Not literally.” Aunt Chrisla chuckled. “It’s going to be nice having a girl in the family to spoil. I have two teenage boys myself, and neither of them cares if their socks match or if they wear the same gym clothes all week.”

  They reached Nordstrom, and Faith soon discovered why the women were so giddy. She had never seen so many clothing selections or had so many people offering choices to try on at once. After declining everything, she tried to explain. “If I had a few yards of material, I could make mei own dresses.”

  Roslyn and Chrisla exchanged glances, then shook their heads at the same time, their expressions aghast.

  Faith peered at herself in the mirror. The floor-length sequined gown covered her legs, but the plunging neckline and strapless style made her feel naked and ashamed.

  “That one is perfect,” Roslyn said.

  Chrisla agreed. “The shimmering brings out your blue eyes.”

  Faith turned side to side. It shimmered all right, but she worried people wouldn’t be looking at her eyes. “It’s too . . . worldly.”

  “You’re up and coming in the world,” Roslyn said, erecting her spine as though ramrodded into position. “You’re the heir to the Colepepper Hotels. People will expect you to—”

  Aunt Chrisla thrust another dress toward Faith. “Try this one on; it’s your size. The neckline is higher. I think you’ll feel more comfortable in it.”

  “Okay.” Faith disappeared into the changing stall.

  “Roz, you have to take things slow.”

  Faith leaned her ear against the small opening near the door hinges and listened as Aunt Chrisla scolded her older sister.

  “Ever since you told me about her, I’ve been reading about the Amish.”

  “They’re a cult, aren’t they?”

  Faith’s throat tightened. The members of her Old Order settlement were devoted followers of the faith—faith in Jesus Christ. They believed in His teachings.

  “By the way, what did you learn about the people who had her?” Chrisla asked.

  “Nothing conclusive. The FBI is still investigating. They won’t say when they will be finished with the investigation.” Roslyn lowered her voice, but not low enough that Faith didn’t hear. “They stole her.”

  “No, Brittany did.”

  “They kept her from me all those years. Years I lost.”

  “Let’s focus on Adriana. You have your daughter back. Let’s spoil her.”

  The FBI is investigating what? Faith’s shoulders sank. “How does it fit, Adriana?” Roslyn asked.

  Faith didn’t want to try anything else on, but she slipped into the dress and pretended not to have heard the sisters’ conversation.

  Roslyn eyed her in the mirror when she exited the fitting room. “Do you like it?”

  Faith nodded. She couldn’t let them think she’d been part of a cult. Who knew the depth of Aunt Chrisla’s probing? Amish people were often misunderstood for their simple lifestyle.

  Roslyn turned to the clerk. “We’ll take this one. Now bring us a selection of your khakis, jeans, and shirts that teenage girls wear nowadays.”

  Faith tried on several outfits, saying yes to everything Roslyn said she liked. Even the jeans that hugged her waist and felt snug in the legs. “Miss,” Roslyn said to the sales clerk, “would you be a dear and cut the tags off the shirt and jeans? Adriana will want to wear them home.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The woman slipped between the racks of clothes and returned a few moments later with a pair of shears and a bag for Faith to take her plum dress home.

  Faith clutched the bag, fearful Roslyn might discard her favorite dress if given a chance. One thing she did like about wearing jeans was the pockets. She no longer had to carry the letter she’d written to Gideon tucked up her dress sleeve. They continued through the different shops in the mall, and even with the new clothes on, people stared. Her head covering and black shoes stood out, but Roslyn remedied that, too, insisting Faith try on multiple pairs of shoes.

  Faith spotted a shipping store near the exit and stopped to mail her letter. She was happier knowing Gideon would tell the others she was safe and be praying for her as well. Maybe she would write her parents a letter later today.

  After lunch, they finished their outing at the nail and hair salon. As if Roslyn had spoken with Jay, the hair stylist, prior to their arrival, the first thing the ma
n did was clip off her ponytail. Faith widened her eyes as Jay then separated her hair into thin sections using tinfoil, then painted it with blue-tinted chemicals that made her eyes water.

  “Don’t worry,” Jay said. “Your hair won’t be blue when I’m done.”

  Faith squeezed her eyes closed anyway. After processing under a drier, then washing, rinsing, more cutting, blow-drying, and styling, Faith opened her eyes. Her once below-the-waist locks now rested on her shoulders. The hairdresser was correct, her hair wasn’t blue. The golden highlights looked like she’d spent long hours in the sun without her kapp, and for the first time ever, she had bangs flopping in her eyes. Roslyn, Aunt Chrisla, Jay, and his entire staff stood with their mouths agape. But when Faith looked at herself, she no longer knew the person in the mirror.

  Faith managed to disguise her tears enough that everyone thought she was overjoyed with the results. She thanked the hairdresser—he’d done a beautiful job—and in the end, children with cancer would benefit from her donated hair, but she couldn’t stop chiding herself. Made to look more pleasing to the eye, she blended in with the world she had tried so hard to avoid. And worst of all, she did it to please people.

  Chapter 39

  As Roslyn and Chrisla’s team of florists, designers, caterers, waitresses, groundskeepers, and event planners all merged together for last-minute party instructions, Faith stepped out of the commotion of the room and into another whirlwind going on in the kitchen.

  Faith dodged someone carrying a large glass bowl of fruit and almost ran into two men toting what looked like a giant birdbath, which by their strained expressions must be heavy. She sidled up to Georgette, who was busy directing the catering crew and slicing a block of cheese at the same time.

  “Are those people supposed to be bringing a birdbath inside?” Faith asked.

  Georgette glanced up and chuckled. “That’s a water fountain, only tonight champagne will be flowing through it.”

  Faith looked at it again and crinkled her nose.