The Mercy

by Beverly Lewis

  “Well, why?”

  “He’d get a smaller place if we end up . . .” She shook her head, her hair gleaming in the light from the window. “The house is in his name, so I guess he can do what he wants with it.”

  Rose searched her sister’s solemn face. “Ya honestly think he’d sell it?”

  “Possibly.”

  “But . . . while he’s recovering . . . and can’t see?” asked Rose. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Since when does any of this make sense?” Hen sighed. “I guess it’s not my place to worry—I mean, look at me.”

  “Because you don’t live there?”

  Hen nodded, blinking back tears.

  Rose slipped her arm around Hen. “Oh, sister . . . I’m so sorry.”

  Hen turned away from the table to blow her nose. “Even though I don’t want to move back, thinking of Brandon’s selling our house really bothers me. And I don’t know what will happen with Mattie Sue—what the court will decide if he still pursues a divorce.”

  “Well, let’s trust it won’t come to that. Surely God’s workin’ on his heart.”

  Hen made no reply. She sat there like an empty husk, not moving and scarcely breathing, or so it seemed.

  Was it a good thing to encourage Hen to embrace hope? Rose knew what God expected of a marriage vow—that it was to be kept, honored. Yet would the tender shoot of hope sprouting in Hen’s heart lead her to more heartache?

  It wasn’t because she felt ready to pair up again at Singing that Rose picked her way over the snowy road that evening, nor did going have anything to do with Mamm’s suggestion the other day. She’d decided to go because she wanted to visit with her girl cousins. Besides, she was tired of being largely stuck in the house due to all the snow and cold.

  Right away cousins Mary, Sadie, and Sarah greeted her just inside the upper-level barn door. The three sisters told her about a farm and house sale the second Saturday in February, at the elder Kings’ on Ridge Road. “It’s within walking distance of your house, Rosie,” Mary said, insisting Rose just had to go. Sadie and Sarah nodded their heads in agreement.

  “There’ll be lots of perty dishes for sale,” Sarah added.

  “And anyway, ain’t so gut to pine away for a fella,” Sadie whispered suddenly, glancing over at the cluster of young men across the barn.

  “Not to worry,” Rose replied, but even as she said it, she knew there were times when she felt rather blue. Still, she wouldn’t wish Silas Good back. That was quite settled between them, and while her cousins certainly knew more about her situation than she would’ve expected, the girls might not realize that Rose had been the one to break things off with Silas.

  Sarah asked her to sit with them, and Rose happily agreed. Pretty Sarah had been seen riding with their younger preacher’s nephew lately, and her heart-shaped face flushed whenever she allowed her gaze to follow the particularly handsome fellow across the way. Too young for me, thought Rose, going with her cousins to the table and getting settled in before the unison singing started.

  After a time, Rose noticed Silas among the older young men. He looked her way and smiled politely—a different sort of smile than when they’d courted. For that she was relieved; it made things easier for her . . . for both of them. Truly it seemed he felt not a speck of lingering regret over their parting.

  When the young men made their way to the opposite side of the table, Rose would have been blind not to notice blond Hank Zook and dark-haired Ezra Lapp looking at her. Good friends since childhood, Hank and Ezra both sat across the table from Rose and her cousins. Younger though they were, Rose suspected both boys might be feeling a little sorry for her. She’d noticed in the past that Ezra especially was quick to befriend any girl who appeared not to have a ride.

  Then and there, she decided that no matter what Ezra said or how pleasantly he smiled at her, she would not go riding with him tonight. Appealing as it might be to accept an invitation from a potential beau rather than walk home through the snow and ice, Rose wouldn’t allow herself to be the object of pity.

  Sure enough, when the hour had grown quite late, Ezra did seek her out, and Rose politely declined. She was more surprised when Hank asked her, as well, so much so that she agreed to go with him as the other fellows and girls paired up and left the barn. Silently, she fell into step with Hank, wondering if, lonely though she was, she was doing the right thing as they walked to his waiting carriage.

  “Mighty cold tonight, ain’t?” Hank offered to help her into his open buggy.

  She nodded, hoping he’d brought along plenty of woolen lap robes. Like Silas always did. . . .

  Once they were settled inside, she realized it was snowing again. A blessing, she thought. Like all farmers, her father had taught her to accept the weather with gratitude no matter what the Good Lord sent their way. She was glad, however, for the extra layers of clothes she’d worn beneath her coat and dress, and thankful for her outer bonnet, which shielded her face from the heavy flakes that were coming fast now.

  “Hope ya didn’t think I was too vorwitzich—bold—comin’ over and talking to you, Rose Ann.”

  “Thought nothin’ of it.”

  Hank exhaled, clearly relieved. “I won’t keep you out too long, since it’s so chilly.”

  She thanked him. Of course, had it been Nick, he would’ve simply bundled her up. But she caught herself. She’d never gone courting with Nick. Why was she thinking of him?

  But as Hank continued to talk, Rose’s mind kept wandering back to the days when she and Nick were best friends. Even though he’d been a troublemaker from day one—or so the People said—he had been her truest companion. Just then she wondered what Hank might think if he knew what she’d written in her secret letter to Nick. Consorting with such a fellow. Some even suspected him of murder. What would any fellow think if he knew how Nick had held her in his arms?

  Hank’s voice interrupted her musing. “My mother knows your English friends, the Brownings. Mighty nice folk, she says.”

  Rose told him that she, too, thought a lot of Mr. Browning and his daughter, Beth. “We looked after Beth while her father was gone last month.”

  “Tending to his ailing father . . . who died, jah?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And Beth’s special, is what I hear.”

  She was glad he’d mentioned her. “She is special, and she was such a help to our family. My Mamm is going to undergo a serious surgery because of her encouragement.”

  Hank listened but didn’t seem particularly interested. And after a while, as he moved on to talk about other, more mundane things, Rose wished he would just take her home. He wasn’t Silas or Nick—and didn’t hold a candle to them when it came to handling a horse, either. She smiled to herself about the latter.

  By the time they reached Dat’s farm, Rose was not only shivering but quite weary of Hank’s chatter. He’d droned on and on about the kind of farming operation he hoped to have someday. Was it to impress her? She didn’t know, but his talk was dreadfully dull and she wondered if this was the reason he was still single at nineteen.

  She was quite ready to climb down from the open buggy. “Denki. Gut Nacht.”

  Hank jumped out of the carriage and hurried around to her. “I’ll see ya next time,” he said, but she’d already turned to make her way toward the house, glad she’d worn her boots. She waved her hand in a brief farewell and hoped he wouldn’t ask her to ride with him ever again.

  Rose was glad Dat took her to work on Wednesday morning, since the roads were so treacherous. He steered the horse and buggy carefully into Gilbert Browning’s snow-packed driveway, where they spotted a U-Haul parked along the side of the house.

  “Looks like Mr. Browning’s mother’s things have arrived.” Rose leaned forward in the carriage and saw Beth’s aunt Judith Templeton—sister of Beth’s deceased mother—coming out of the front door, carrying empty boxes. Rose recognized her from a wallet picture Beth had shown her some time
ago. The sweet-faced, middle-aged woman looked as kind as Beth had always described her to be.

  “Must be why the bishop asked if I could help him build a bedroom off the main level,” said Dat.

  “For Mr. Browning’s mother?” This was the first Rose had heard it.

  “Jah, just last week we talked about it.”

  “Well, I wonder if she’ll be comfortable in the sitting room, at least for now,” Rose said, thinking aloud. “Surely he won’t expect her to manage goin’ up and down the stairs to the bedrooms.”

  “Maybe you can help with that.” Dat turned and smiled. “No matter what your hands find to do, Rosie, you always make quick work of it.”

  Her cheeks warmed slightly and she thanked him for bringing her. “I can walk home, if that would help.”

  “No . . . no, it’s much too far in the cold and snow.”

  “I don’t mind, Dat.”

  “If it was plowin’ season, I might think twice. But I’ll come for ya at eleven.”

  She nodded, grateful. “Tell Mammi Sylvia I’ll cook supper tonight, since she’s—”

  “Ach, Rosie, I’ll leave that to you.” Like most men hereabouts, he wasn’t one to poke his nose into women’s work.

  “All right, then. See ya later.” She watched him back out to the narrow country road.

  The sun moved out from behind the gray cloud cover, shards of light piercing through the gloom. Gut, the ride home won’t be so cold for him, she thought. Even so, the trip would feel long—the road was heavily snow-packed, and deep runnels made by the carriage wheels had frozen and melted and refrozen, making the way extra jarring.

  Hurrying inside, Rose was anxious to warm up. And immediately upon stepping inside the Browning home, she felt the lovely, even heat of the front room and kitchen, altogether unlike her father’s house.

  Beth spotted her and gave her a quick hug. “Hi, Rosie!”

  “Nice to see you again.” Rose glanced out the window. “Looks like you’ve got company—your aunt, jah?”

  “Oh yes, Aunt Judith. And Grandma’s coming in two days . . . on the train.”

  Soon, Judith stepped indoors, as well, wearing a hooded coat and scarf. Beth introduced Rose to her aunt. “Remember how I talked about her?” Beth asked.

  “I certainly do.” Judith removed a glove to shake Rose’s hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  “Beth speaks so highly of you,” Rose said.

  “Isn’t she sweet?” Judith hugged Beth and looked fondly at her.

  Beth blushed. “Oh, Auntie . . .”

  Judith gave her another quick squeeze, then said she needed to get back outside to help Beth’s father unload a few more boxes. “I’ll be inside soon for some hot cocoa.” Judith smiled warmly at Rose. “It’s really wonderful meeting you, Rose.”

  “And you, too.” Rose was delighted. “What a nice lady,” she told Beth.

  “She’s sweet as honey pie, Mommy used to say.”

  “Well, I can see why.”

  Beth reached for Rose’s hand and led her into the narrow sitting room on the opposite wall of the front room, where the staircase ascended to the right. Most of the furniture in the room had been removed, except for a daybed replete with pretty pillows and matching coverlet, and an upholstered rocking chair and night table. “Grandma’s going to sleep on the daybed here,” said Beth, brightening even more. “And did you know what?”

  “Let’s see . . . your grandmother will soon be getting a bedroom of her own?”

  Beth moved her head up and down. “You guessed it.”

  “I s’pose ya know who’s goin’ to add on to the house, too, ain’t so?”

  Beth’s face was like a gleam of sunshine on the snow as she nodded. “You know what I think?”

  “What?” Rose played along.

  “We’ll seem like Amish.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’ll look like a barn-raising, won’t it?”

  “Oh, you mean when the men come to add on the room?”

  Beth nodded. “Only it won’t be a barn—just a big bedroom.” Beth laughed. “Like a tiny Dawdi Haus.”

  Mr. Browning came in the front door and wandered into the sitting room. He talked about the excitement surrounding the new addition, the fact that, weather permitting, the foundation would be poured tomorrow, and all the preparations for Beth’s grandmother’s moving here this Friday. The to-do list he gave Rose today had plenty to tackle to ready the house for her arrival.

  Rose wondered how long Aunt Judith would stay but didn’t feel it was her place to ask. “I’m sure you and your father will take gut care of your grandmother,” she said to Beth.

  “You’ll like her, Rosie . . . I just know it.”

  They walked through the living room and into the kitchen. “How would ya like to go to the quilting bee with me tomorrow morning?” Rose asked. “You could help entertain some of the children there while we work on more quilts and tied comforters for the shelter.”

  “Oh yes!”

  “We’ll ask your father if it’s all right, then.”

  Beth beamed with happiness. “I like playing with the little ones. Will Mattie Sue be there, too?”

  “I’ll be sure to bring her.” Rose smiled.

  In the kitchen Beth picked up a pile of mail while Rose went to the broom closet in the back hallway, where she found the bucket and mop. “Oh goodness. Just look at this!” Beth said, tearing open an envelope. Then, catching herself, she said, “Oops, this letter’s not for me.”

  Wondering what was up, Rose carried the bucket to the sink, glancing over her shoulder at Beth. “What’re ya sayin’?”

  “I opened Daddy’s letter by mistake.”

  “You didn’t mean to,” Rose reassured her, knowing Beth sometimes acted impulsively.

  As if she’d done something wrong, Beth inched toward her, carrying the partially opened letter in her hand.

  “You don’t understand,” Beth whispered, leaning against Rose’s arm while hot water gushed into the bucket. “It’s from my mother’s nurse, Jane Keene.”

  Rose couldn’t help but wonder why Beth was whispering.

  “Miss Jane is the kindest lady I know.” She stopped. “Except for you, Rosie.”

  Rose didn’t inquire about Jane, but there was clearly more on Beth’s mind. “Maybe it’s a belated New Year’s card. Could that be?”

  Beth shook her head, her short dark hair swinging back and forth against her cheeks. “Jane wasn’t just nice to my mother and me. . . .” She paused.

  “What do ya mean?”

  “Oh . . . uh, I don’t know.”

  Turning, Rose looked into Beth’s innocent face. “I think you do.”

  “Miss Jane loved our family . . . all of us.”

  “And I can see why.” She smiled at Beth. “Something to be happy about, ain’t?”

  A light went on in Beth’s eyes. “I didn’t think we’d hear from her ever again.”

  “Why’s that?” Rose turned off the water and lifted the pail out of the sink.

  Beth shrugged, bashful now. “I better go and give this to Daddy.” Beth headed for the front room, where she pulled on her jacket and wrapped her red scarf around her neck before she cautiously made her way outside, the letter from Jane Keene in her hand.

  What on earth? Rose wondered, unable to get Beth’s guarded expression out of her mind.

  When Rose returned home from the Brownings’, Dat let her out of the buggy before he went to unhitch the horse. Rose saw Mattie Sue emerge from the Dawdi Haus with her father, leading him down the snowy walkway, chattering all the while. She talked about the horses—Alfalfa, George, and Upsy-Daisy—but it was the colts that seemed most exciting to Mattie Sue as she guided Brandon out toward the stable.

  Rose was touched by the way her young niece called her father’s attention to the unevenness of the path. It was ever so dear the way Mattie Sue held his hand and glanced up at him every few seconds.

  How sh
e loves him!

  What would it do to her to live apart from him, if and when Brandon’s sight returned and he was to go back home? Or what if Brandon had his way and eventually got custody? How would Mattie Sue fare without seeing her mother every day?

  It was hard for Rose to imagine such a thing, having grown up with both parents, surrounded by her many brothers and Hen. They’d loved and laughed and worked together from dawn to dusk. Oh, the gut times they’d had! No, she couldn’t let herself think such thoughts about Hen’s family. She just couldn’t.

  Turning to head to the house, she looked over her shoulder, again moved by Mattie Sue’s tender care of her daddy. But it was the fact that Rose hadn’t ever seen Brandon go with Mattie Sue—or anyone—to the barn that made her wonder. Was he ready to warm up to his surroundings, and maybe even Rose’s family, at long last? She hoped so but wouldn’t stand there speculating further with the cold seeping into her. Opening the door, she stepped inside, glad Mammi Sylvia was stoking the black cookstove with plenty of logs. She walked straight to it, removing her mittens and rubbing her hands together, and observed Mamm reading the old German Biewel in her wooden wheelchair.

  Rose assumed Hen had gone to work at her part-time job at the fabric shop up yonder, leaving Mattie Sue in charge of occupying Brandon for these hours. She didn’t have to voice her thoughts, because her grandmother confirmed her hunch and told Rose to keep an eye out for Mattie.

  “I just saw her and her father walkin’ together,” Rose said, eyeing Mamm, who looked deep in concentration as she read the Scriptures. “How long is Hen workin’ today?”

  “Till before supper.” Mammi reached for a box of salt in the freestanding cupboard near the stove. “Seems her husband and Mattie Sue will be joinin’ us for the noon meal.”

  Rose wondered if she felt uncomfortable at the thought of Brandon’s feet beneath their family table, Englischer that he was.

  Rose took off her boots and pushed her toes into some old slippers she kept nearby during the coldest months. “I’ll help you finish cookin’,” she offered.