The Mercy

by Beverly Lewis

  “Why’s that?”

  “Even though he was feelin’ poorly, Jeb was mighty sharp today . . . has been every time I’ve talked to him recently.”

  Rose pondered that. Most folk, her father included, spoke of the elderly Englischer as being a bit soft in the head, though they never said so unkindly. It was merely a matter of fact. “Well, that’s interesting.”

  Together, one on each side, they unfastened the tugs and inserted them into the harness around the back. Then, holding the shafts, they led the horse out.

  “The man’s mighty frail, for certain. But he ain’t feeble-minded like some think,” Dawdi said, guiding the horse away to the stable. “He does tend to keep to himself, though,” he said over his shoulder.

  Her grandfather was always one to look for the best in folk—and usually found it. Rose recalled the years of her friendship with Nick. She and Dawdi Jeremiah were similar in that way, considering both Jeb and Nick were reckoned outsiders. Englischers through and through.

  Come Tuesday evening, Solomon was glad for Emma’s suggestion to have Aaron and Barbara break bread with them. He took heart at their neighbors’ interest in Emma’s imminent surgery.

  At the meal, Barbara drew Emma out in conversation. And much later, when Emma asked Sol to take her back to their bedroom—even before Rose Ann served Barbara’s pineapple upside-down cake—Barbara went and sat with her in the room, relinquishing dessert.

  Meanwhile, Aaron talked cordially with Emma’s parents and Sol and Rose Ann while enjoying black coffee and the tasty dessert his wife had gone out of her way to make. All of them keenly realized this would be the last time such a gathering would take place for quite some time. At least until Emma was released from the rehab facility where she would go following her recovery from surgery. Sol was mighty thankful all of them had shared in the meal and the fellowship. Emma, too, had expressed her delight that they’d come.

  Solomon talked with Aaron about his family’s plan to go to York early on Thursday morning. “Nearly all the boys and their wives are comin’. Hen’s husband wants to be there, too.” Of all things.

  Sylvia’s head popped up, and Sol assumed that she was as surprised as he’d been about Brandon’s decision.

  “ ’Tis unexpected, I daresay,” said Aaron.

  Jeremiah didn’t comment, only nodded his head right quick, looking mighty tired. His gray hair was awfully sparse on top—Sol hadn’t really noticed till just now. Smacking his lips, Jeremiah raised his coffee cup and with pleading eyes asked Rose for more. She cheerfully did his bidding.

  “Next thing, there might be a whole caravan of vehicles heading over to York for Emma,” said Aaron thoughtfully.

  “She’s well loved. We’ll all be there pullin’ for her,” Sol said.

  Just then Barbara came back into the kitchen. “Emma’s fallen asleep,” she said quietly, then asked what the talk was about so many going to the hospital in York. Sol explained how they planned to fill the waiting room during the surgery.

  Barbara’s eyebrows rose. She looked at Aaron. “I’d sure like to go. All right with you, Aaron?”

  Her husband set down his coffee. “Well, now, I was thinkin’ the same thing. But only if it’d bring some solace to ya, Sol.”

  Solomon blinked back tears. “Havin’ my family and both of yous there, during this dangerous surgery . . . well, that’d be wonderful-gut.”

  “Then consider it done.” Aaron nodded his head, his long beard nearly brushing the table’s edge.

  Barbara offered to help Rose and Sylvia clear the table and put away the leftovers, but Rose wouldn’t hear of it and urged the two older women to sit and enjoy themselves, which they did.

  Aaron moved with Sol to the front room and mentioned again how pleased he was Brandon would be joining them on Thursday. “Seems he’s become interested in the family,” he observed.

  “Sometimes it takes a bolt of lightning, ya know?” Sol replied.

  In that moment, Sol knew he would miss seeing Brandon round here—walking hand-in-hand with Mattie Sue in the barn and elsewhere—when he left to resume his modern life back in town. Sol truly would.

  After the dishes were done, Mamm awakened refreshed and was able to join them again. Aaron and Barbara had stayed for Bible reading and prayers, and Aaron offered to read from the Christenpflicht. The good bishop was so moved by the evening prayer he’d chosen, he unashamedly wiped his face with the back of his hand.

  Once their neighbors said good-bye and headed out to the road to walk home, Rose slipped upstairs, just itching to open the letter that had come for her, postmarked Bart. She guessed it was from Isaac Ebersol. Who else?

  Unless it’s from his twin. She closed her door, snickering at her own little joke, and settled down on the edge of the bed to read.

  Dear Rose Ann,

  Greetings! Jake and I enjoyed meeting you and Leah Miller, as well as visiting with our cousin Ruthann and your brother Mose. It was real nice of them to invite us to dinner there.

  I hope the weather holds out for me to see you again. Even if I have to hitch up one of the horses to a sleigh, I’ll find a way to get there. We never had to miss school for big snows growing up—same as you, I’m sure. Just so the drifts don’t rise too high on the horse, jah?

  Well, I’ll see you this Saturday, Rose. I’ll pull up the road a ways from your home and wait for you at dusk.

  Your friend,

  Isaac Ebersol

  Funny. She could almost hear him talking. Rose leaned back on the pillow and held up the letter, rereading it. She’d never had a friendship with a fellow who lived five long miles away. She realized she was quite happy about the whole thing—their meeting last Sunday, his letter coming so quickly—and she looked forward to seeing him next weekend already.

  Jah, this could be real nice!

  It was late, but Hen couldn’t turn off her brain. While waiting for sleep to come, she kept reliving her growing-up years, thinking of all the spring and summer seasons she’d worked with her mother and Rose outdoors. Hours and days of pressing her hands into the rich, dark soil of the vegetable garden—the flower gardens, too, that edged the perimeter of the front porch and house. All the pruning and attempts to tie back the clusters of shoots and vines in preparation for eventual blossoms. Rose Ann had been better at this. When it came to gardening, especially with flowers, Rose seemed to know what to trim and what to keep in order to make plants flourish.

  Rose knows how to keep her own life in check, too. Hen rolled over and faced the far wall, where the faintest amount of light from outside slipped around the window shade.

  She had always been nervous about the sounds of the house at night and of the feeling that pervaded the nighttime hours. Unlike anyone else in her family, for her, darkness meant peril. Had it stemmed from her mother’s accident that dismal day on Bridle Path Lane? She did not know. But Hen was afraid of the dark.

  Sleep evaded her. As the minutes slipped by, she wondered where she’d ever gotten the notion that the house was in any way different at night than in the daylight. One thing was sure, she felt more at ease with Brandon sleeping across the hall. Not that she’d ever been as fearful in the Dawdi Haus as she had been in town. No, her father’s farm made Hen feel more contented and peaceful.

  Hen didn’t know when she’d dropped off to sleep. Now, in her haziness, she was aware of someone’s hesitant footsteps in the hallway. She strained to hear the familiar shuffle—Brandon moving slowly, finding his way on the stairs. Perhaps he was going after some cookies in the kitchen, which he’d been known to do at night.

  Or was she even awake?

  Dozing off again, Hen didn’t hear him return; she was so weary from the long day.

  Then, as if in a dream, she felt a presence in her room. She squinted into the darkness. Was it Brandon or a figment of her imagination? Had her husband stumbled into her room by mistake, disoriented because of his inability to see?

  She waited before saying anything, l
ying very still. The room was darker than earlier tonight when she’d suffered from insomnia. She recognized Brandon’s silhouette. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, facing away from her.

  “Brandon, are you all right?” she eked out.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “I’m fine. Did you lose your way . . . getting back to your room?” She felt silly asking, but what else could she say?

  “No, I knew.” His voice sounded as sleepy as hers. “I’m sorry, Hen. I want to apologize for being so pointed. I should’ve asked how you felt about Mattie Sue going with me to New York . . . if I go.”

  She could hardly believe this. “I forgive you.” The words floated out effortlessly.

  “I’ve been difficult, Hen. And for that I’m sorry, too.”

  “Brandon . . .”

  “No, really. Having me here underfoot has been tough on you and Mattie Sue.”

  She insisted he was no trouble, that she didn’t mind at all.

  He continued talking. “To put it bluntly, taking care of me has been much harder here than it would have been at our house in town. Don’t try to deny it.” He paused a second. “I mean, how do you manage to live day after day, minus all the comforts you used to love and appreciate?”

  She had to be honest. Besides, surely he knew. “I really don’t miss any of that.” Hen stopped for a moment, weighing her words. “I love it here. I only wish you did, too.”

  Brandon was quiet a long while. “Well, the place does have its charms for anyone anxious to get away from it all. I just would have liked a little more choice in the matter.”

  Hen sat up in bed. “I realize this has been very painful for you. Coming here . . . the accident.”

  “You’ve no idea, Hen. I relive that crash dozens of times a day, trying to figure out what I could have done differently. I’m close to despair at times—and even worse some days—waiting for what I always took for granted to return.” He hung his head.

  She heard him sigh. Rising, she didn’t bother to put on her bathrobe. She crept around the bed, her feet bare on the ice-cold floor, and sat next to him, slipping her arm around him. She had not forgotten the shape of his frame, the strength of his limbs, the muscles in his back and neck. “I’d like to pray for you, Brandon. Would you mind?”

  He surprised her by agreeing.

  She asked God to heal him—to comfort and strengthen him in this time of need. “And make your will known above all else, dear Lord. Amen.”

  They sat silently for a moment, and then he touched her face. He pressed his forehead against hers. “No one else would’ve taken care of me the way you have, Hen.”

  This acknowledgment moved her deeply. “I care about you, Brandon . . . I truly do.”

  He drew her near and kissed her gently. Again his lips found hers but lingered now, so fervent was this kiss. The darkness in the room seemed suddenly to lessen—no longer something to fear but to relish as Hen yielded to her husband’s tender yet strong embrace.

  Rose had been aware of the hammering going on Wednesday morning while working at Brownings’. It made her smile, knowing her father and Aaron were building the addition.

  Back home now, Rose kept busy hemming a dress for one of her new dolls. Mattie Sue was her little shadow, watching every stitch.

  “Will ya tell me a story, Aendi Rose?” Mattie Sue finally asked.

  “What sort of story?” Rose glanced down at her.

  Mattie Sue hesitated, as though thinking it through. “How about a story about Nick.”

  Startled, Rose asked, “Nick? What do you want to know?”

  “Why’d he go away? Mommy said he did something really bad.”

  Rose sighed. Oh goodness. She didn’t know how to explain what she knew about Nick’s life prior to his coming here, and she certainly wasn’t going to address why he’d left.

  “I miss him.” Mattie Sue fooled with the hem of her apron. “Did he like growin’ up in the country . . . around the animals?”

  “Sure, he loved it here.”

  “What was he like when he was little?”

  Mattie Sue was certainly fond of Nick, just as he had been of her, but Rose truly wondered what prompted her niece’s interest today. “Well, honey, he didn’t come to live with the bishop till he was ten years old, ya know.”

  “Where was he before that?”

  “With his mother.” Rose braced herself for more questions, but surprisingly, Mattie Sue said nothing more, going to the window to look across at the Petersheims’ two-story barn. She pressed her nose against the glass, making circular breath marks while Rose finished hand sewing the little black apron.

  “I can tell you about Nick coming to live next door,” Rose offered at last.

  Mattie Sue turned and hurried back to Rose. She sat down, dangling her short legs from the bench. “Did he ride a horse then?”

  “Jah, and sometimes he rode bareback, too, but he wasn’t s’posed to. He was disobedient.”

  “Did he ride before he came here?”

  “He lived in a big city, so I doubt it.”

  “Did he tell ya ’bout that?”

  “Some.” Rose didn’t want to reveal much on that topic. She looked at the day clock on the wall over the sink. “Mammi Sylvia will be comin’ in a bit to help make supper, so now’s a gut time for a story.”

  Leaning her head against Rose’s arm, Mattie Sue curled up.

  “Once upon a time—”

  Mattie Sue giggled. “Goody! I like this one.”

  “How do ya even know?” Rose laughed softly, carefully threading the needle through the black fabric.

  “Daddy always starts like this.”

  Rose glanced over her shoulder toward the sitting room and the stairs. And the bedroom beyond, where Mamm was resting soundly when she checked earlier. Her last day to rest before the surgery, Rose thought nervously.

  “Don’t stop,” Mattie Sue urged.

  “All right.” She kissed the top of Mattie’s head. “Once upon a time, there was a boy named Nick, who often left the table before the second grace. He was told if he didn’t stay put, he’d have to spend time with his older sister, milking cows by hand. Of course, that was the last thing the city boy wanted to learn. So he started sitting still till the second prayer was finished.”

  “He learned to obey?”

  “Well, in that case he did.”

  “I’m learnin’ that, too,” Mattie Sue said almost proudly.

  “Anyway, one day Nick found a wounded raccoon in a tree hole and carried the furry little creature all the way home to show his sisters, who squealed with glee.”

  Mattie Sue perked up. “He did?”

  “He ended up setting the raccoon’s leg in a little wooden splint and nursing the poor critter back to health. In his free time, Nick even built a big cage just for her, though he let the raccoon go free after a couple of months.”

  “Did he name her?”

  “Oh, he was always namin’ the animals. That one he called Rosie.”

  “But that’s your name.”

  “Jah . . . ’tis.” Rose wasn’t about to guess why Nick had chosen her name. Maybe he was sweet on her even then.

  “Tell me another story ’bout Nick,” pleaded Mattie Sue, clapping her hands. “This is fun!”

  “Well, let’s see. I could tell you about the time he and I went fishing and caught enough catfish for both our families to fry up for supper. Nick cleaned the whole bunch of them, which pleased the cooks no end.”

  Mattie Sue had a faraway look in her eyes. “Nick’s awful nice, ain’t?”

  Rose smiled.

  “I heard him talkin’ to Pepper once.”

  “He loved that horse, for sure.”

  “More than anything, didn’t he, Aendi Rose?”

  Rose stopped her sewing to look down at Mattie Sue. “Well, he also loved the bishop and Barbara. And their grandchildren. He sometimes told them stories, ya know, but mostly they’d have a tellin’ amongst themselves
—and he’d listen in.”

  “Nick told me a story once.”

  “A happy one?”

  Mattie Sue straightened and leaned forward on the table. “He wanted to go to school. It was his dream.”

  “To college?”

  “I think so.”

  Rose’s heart sank. That’s a sad story.

  “It made his brother real mad.”

  “Maybe Christian didn’t want to hear that story,” Rose said.

  “Nick said Christian’s name wasn’t right for him.”

  Rose remembered all too well how adamant Nick had been about that. “They should’ve named him Cain.” She shivered with the memory.

  “Nick’s story came true, ya know,” Rose said. “He’s attending college right now.”

  Mattie Sue frowned and looked at her.

  “That’s why he left here.” One reason.

  “So that’s not a pretend story, then?”

  Rose shook her head.

  “Nick said there’s a hobgoblin in the ravine. Is that true?” Mattie’s eyes were wide now.

  Rose shook her head. “Oh, that’s just a joke.”

  Suddenly, she heard Mamm calling and put down her sewing. “Be careful not to bump the needle, all right?” she instructed Mattie Sue. With that, Rose went into the bedroom, where she found her mother in tears. “Mamma, what is it?”

  “I had an awful dream.”

  She knelt beside the bed and clasped her mother’s hands. “I’m right here, Mamma.” Rose didn’t really want to hear about the dream. Not after her talk with Mattie Sue.

  “I dreamed I was still in pain even after the surgery,” Mamm said, clinging to her hand.

  Rose refused to give in to fear. “Let’s trust the Lord for the outcome,” she whispered. “He knows what’s best, jah?”

  Mamm smiled through her tears. “Beth’s dream was heaven-sent, ain’t?”

  Rose remembered everything about the dream that inspired Mamm to see the York specialist after so many years of resisting medical treatment. “We’re following what God put on Beth’s heart . . . for you, Mamma. Near everyone I know is beseeching the Lord God for you,” Rose said. “You can rest assured of that.”