The Mercy

by Beverly Lewis

  February’s final days faltered as frost-bound soil gave way to fog and rain and early bulbs. Meanwhile, Solomon continued to cross off the days on the kitchen calendar, anxious for Emma’s homecoming.

  At last, March came in earnest, along with mud and the annual farm sales associated with it. And then, just one day shy of three weeks at the local rehab center, Emma was finally to be released into Sol’s care. Overjoyed at the prospect of her return, Sylvia, Hen, and Rose Ann planned a surprise gathering in her honor. A special feast, complete with the three women’s best recipes, including the standard main dish served at weddings—roast with tender, shredded chicken and a rich gravy. Delicious!

  Feeling downright giddy, Sol had gone around inviting their boys and families the day before, then went over to Brandon and Hen’s new place, and last to Petersheims’. He and Brandon set up the extra folding tables and chairs, which spilled into the front room, before Sol stopped to clean up a bit, change clothes, and head off to Lancaster with the driver.

  Emma’s coming home. Praise be!

  Never before had Sol seen such joy on his daughters’ faces as when he carried Emma up the walkway and into the house. Tears rolled down Rose Ann’s face when she spotted them, and Hen came right over and kissed her mother’s cheek, smiling. Brandon stood beside her with Mattie Sue perched high on his shoulder. Even Beth Browning was present, observing quietly.

  “It’s wonderful to see all of you,” Emma said, eyes glistening. “But ya really didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”

  “Oh, we wanted to!” Hen and Rose Ann declared in unison, which brought a wave of laughter all around.

  Barbara Petersheim waited till all seven sons had greeted their mother before inching forward to pat Emma’s hand, their eyes locking for a second in a sweet way as only best friends do. Brandon had seen to it that Emma was comfortable there in the padded rocking chair, where she was managing quite well. Sol was grateful for the strength she’d gained from daily therapy sessions these past weeks.

  The younger grandchildren, including Mattie Sue, had brought simple handmade items as tokens of their love, including cards and artwork. And Rose surprised Mamm with the set of teacups and saucers hand painted with Rose’s namesake, saying they were once Yost Kauffman’s. Emma’s face glowed as she lovingly thanked Rose . . . and each one about her. Her delight at being home and with her family again was clear to all.

  Emma was flushed by the time they gathered at the various tables—the children in the kitchen and the rest of them scattered across the front room. Her posture looked straighter, and she seemed more alert and energetic than before. Best of all, she was completely pain free.

  When Sol bowed his head for the table blessing, he had to deliberately swallow twice. Best to keep his emotions in check, lest the whole bunch of them commence to weeping for joy. And before he ever raised his head, he felt his wife’s small, cool hand on his and thanked the dear Lord in heaven for this most remarkable day of days.

  On the last day of June, around nine o’clock in the morning, Rose decided to surprise Barbara Petersheim with a basket of freshly baked sticky buns. The sun was making its slow climb through the trees as she weaved her way through the barnyard and out toward the shortcut. The path was well worn from all the years of neighborly visits. Tall trees lined the way, providing a sanctuary from the sun.

  She was halfway to Petersheims’ when a yellow taxicab stopped at the end of their lane. A tall, dark-haired Englischer in tan slacks and a mint-green short-sleeved shirt climbed out and paid the driver. He walked with purpose toward the farmhouse.

  Suddenly, Barbara rushed out of the house, the hem of her skirt fluttering behind her. Rose stopped in her tracks, staring as Barbara threw her arms around the man. “Can it be?” Rose whispered, her heart pounding in her ears.

  Yet Barbara’s cries of delight at the unexpected reunion left Rose Ann with no question in her mind. Nick’s back!

  She felt stunned seeing him there, walking with Barbara around the side of the house and up the back porch steps. He had not even a speck of luggage, so Rose assumed he was visiting only briefly.

  “This is unbelievable,” she whispered, nearly beside herself as she sat on an old tree stump, not certain what to do with the still-warm cinnamon rolls in the basket. If she returned home without taking them to Barbara, Mamm and Mammi Sylvia would surely ask questions, and Rose would have no choice but to reveal why she hadn’t made the delivery. As intuitive as her grandmother and mother were, they might read between the lines and suspect Rose was still carrying a torch for her old friend.

  I must guard my heart, she thought, remembering Isaac.

  Glancing toward the neighbors’, she decided to leave the basket of buns on the back porch in hope that Barbara or Nick might find them.

  Sol had heard through the grapevine that Nick Franco might possibly be in the area, but he’d not told a soul—not even Aaron. Supposedly, the wayward young man had been seen in English clothing inquiring about a house to rent near Quarryville.

  That Monday morning, Aaron came in the door to Sol’s woodshop, his face ashen. “Got a minute, Sol?”

  He pulled up a stool for his friend. “Was is letz?—What’s wrong?”

  “Nick’s back. He’s over at the house right now, sitting with his feet under our table, talkin’ a blue streak.”

  Sol hardly knew how to respond.

  “Says he’s come to apologize—to ask for forgiveness and confess his part in Christian’s death.”

  Sol’s heart sank at this confirmation of his fears. So Nick had played a role in his foster brother’s death! “Now, this is a surprise.”

  “That’s what I thought at first . . . and now I really don’t know what to think. He also insists he wants to join church. But if ya saw him, well, you’d realize he’s anything but Plain anymore, Sol.”

  “What’s he say to that?”

  “Just that he feels called to be Amish . . . and that he wants to make things right.”

  Sol was speechless.

  “I mean with the membership . . . with everyone.” Aaron stopped to mop his brow with his kerchief. “Nick wants to bow his knee before the Lord God and the brethren—and wants to talk things over with Bishop Simon in Bart, too.”

  “What changed his mind, I wonder?” Sol was baffled.

  “All I know is he wants forgiveness . . . so he says.”

  “Well, has he asked it from you and Barbara?”

  “First thing out of his mouth when he arrived a bit ago. And he asked for it as humbly as anybody could wish.”

  This was so hard to believe, Sol couldn’t trust his ears—or Nick. What was he really thinking? “You don’t think he’s come back for Rosie, do ya?”

  “Hard to say.”

  Sol shuddered. From what Mose had told him, Rose had been seeing Ruthann’s cousin from Bart for months now. Who could know, but they might even be engaged. “Guess time will tell why Nick’s really here and whether or not he came back for the right reason.”

  Aaron continued. “I’ll admit it was awful hard lookin’ him in the face.”

  “Did he give you any more to go on . . . ’bout Christian’s accident?” Sol almost dreaded asking.

  “No.” Aaron rubbed his forehead with the back of his arm. “And his contrite words just don’t match his English getup.”

  “So will he stay with you or what?”

  “That I don’t know, either.” Aaron shook his head and took off his straw hat. “I almost asked him how he expects to fit in at Preachin’ with his fancy clothes and that English haircut.”

  “Well, sure . . . why don’t ya?”

  “Haven’t gotten that far. Had to get out for some fresh air . . . prob’ly shouldn’t have left Barbara over there alone like that.”

  A tremor went through Sol.

  Aaron glanced toward the door. “I could use some extra help with fieldwork,” he said.

  “Couldn’t we all?” But Sol wasn’t about to offer Ni
ck any type of work . . . or give him the time of day, for that matter. He sighed, feeling bad about his skepticism. “Just how far does forgiveness go in this case, Aaron?”

  “I wonder the same.” Aaron rose from the stool to leave. “The timing is awful surprisin’, given the brethren will make their final ruling, the start of next month. Even so, Nick seems mighty sincere.”

  Has someone set Nick up to return on the eve of all of this? Sol worried.

  Planting his hat square on his head, Aaron made his way outside. Sol stood watching him walk through the verdant meadow between their houses. He squinted at the sky, bright with the morning sun. There were many hours of work ahead today; he could not let this news rattle him.

  Glancing at his house, Sol dreaded going inside for even a drink of cold water, let alone his typical midmorning sticky buns and coffee. He certainly was not going to be the one to break the news to Emma and Rose Ann. In fact, if he could somehow back up and begin the day all over again, that would be just fine by him.

  Sol turned back to the woodshop, going to sit on the stool where Aaron had been just minutes before. He groaned loudly, reliving the words from his neighbor and friend. “Nick’s back.”

  This was the very last thing he’d expected to hear from Aaron this summertime morning. Now or ever.

  Rose went around opening all the windows at home, coaxing in wafts of cool air. Everything seems the same, yet so very different. Her friend Nick had returned and she felt so ferhoodled. Hearing his voice inside the Petersheims’ house when she left the basket of sticky buns on their porch had made Rose’s stomach do flip-flops.

  Is this just a visit, or has he come back to stay?

  It was already quite warm indoors and she recalled how hot and muggy yesterday had been, without the benefit of a breeze. The smell of fresh dough lingered in the kitchen. She had brushed it lavishly with melted butter and given it a good sprinkling of brown sugar and cinnamon. She’d even added two-thirds of a cup of raisins to the mixture. Barbara will love it . . . so will Nick. She laughed a little, realizing his first taste of Amish baked goods upon his return might be of her very own!

  She stared out at the sky—a brilliant blue with nary a cloud. Across the sweeping meadow, the ancient trees along the well-worn path swayed gently, their branches intertwined at the crowns. She spotted Aaron Petersheim hurrying along the dirt path toward his house, nearly running. What a true and loyal friend their former bishop had been to her father and vice versa—seeing each other through some difficult times. Aaron had been a good friend to Hen’s husband, as well, guiding him spiritually during his recovery. Her sister’s reunion with Brandon last winter had been such a blessing . . . and Mattie Sue also seemed happier than ever. Wouldn’t Mattie be thrilled about Nick’s return if she knew?

  Rose heard Mamm come from the sitting room, wheeling herself into the kitchen on her own, her upper body much stronger now. Her Bible lay open on her lap as she settled near the window, the sun spilling in all around her. “I like being near you, Rosie, while you cook and whatnot.”

  The weeks away from home had made her mother more grateful for company. “I like havin’ you near, too, Mamm.”

  Then, turning her attention to making the noon meal, Rose set about frying the thawed hamburger she’d set out on the counter. After just a few minutes, a new aroma began to fill the kitchen.

  “The smell of hamburger cooking always brings back memories of you and Hen growin’ up, right here . . . at my feet.” Mamm smiled.

  “Such a happy childhood you gave Hen and me, Mamma. Denki for that.”

  “Well, that’s what mothers do, jah?”

  Rose hoped to do the same for her own children in due time. And she was fairly sure Isaac was getting close to asking her to marry him. Of course, he’d have to join the Bart church pretty soon in order to do so this wedding season. And she’d have to transfer her membership to his church district, as well. “The dinner in a dish will be ready in short order,” she said.

  “Sounds mighty gut,” Mamm replied, and Rose continued her cooking.

  Meanwhile, her mother read aloud from the Psalms. Rose enjoyed hearing each uplifting phrase. “ ‘O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good: because his mercy endureth forever. . . .’ ”

  God’s mercy.

  She wondered how long Nick planned to stay around. Oh, she could hardly wait to talk to him, yet she wanted to be discreet about how she approached him. Or should she at all?

  As her mother continued reading, Rose put the casserole in the oven and swept the kitchen floor. That done, she went out and checked on the first line of clothes, which were dry, so she brought in a big basketful.

  Later, when the main dish had finished baking, she reached for the potholders to remove it from the belly of the cookstove. The bread crumbs were perfectly browned on top of the layers of lean ground beef, corn, onion, green peppers, and sliced tomatoes. “Here we are,” she said, carrying it over to let Mamm drink in the tantalizing scent. “Looks mighty nice, jah?”

  “Smells gut, too.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Your father will want his nice and hot,” Mamm instructed.

  “I’ll ring the dinner bell, all right?” Rose went out and gave the rope a single swift pull. The bell rang loudly, echoing over the cornfields and beyond.

  Upon Rose’s return to the kitchen, Mamm looked over at her, eyes so clear and sweet, free of pain. She had been through the fire and back and survived. The Lord had been her fortress through that difficult time, and she’d made sure to tell that to everyone who would listen at both the York hospital and the local osteopathic hospital. One of the Lancaster therapists also had a Plain upbringing, so she and Mamm had knit a special friendship. They still wrote letters every few weeks.

  Rose set a pitcher of homemade root beer on the table, then glasses at each place setting. The hot dish would be cooled enough to move from the stove top to the table in short order. Oh, that first taste was always pure heaven!

  “What’s keepin’ your father, I wonder?” Mamm said.

  “I’ll just go out there and let him know we’re ready, jah?”

  Mamm nodded, a smile on her face.

  Dawdi and Mammi arrived just then and said they’d be glad to join in on the noon meal. “Oh jah, Rosie made plenty for everyone,” Mamm said as Rose headed outdoors to find Dat.

  But her father wasn’t to be found in his usual place in the woodshop. And when Rose looked inside the barn, he wasn’t there, either. “Guess he’ll come in when he’s ready,” she decided, walking back to the house.

  All of them went ahead without Dat, a rare thing for sure. A man of habits, failing to show up for dinner was certainly not one of them.

  Afterward, Rose cleaned up the dishes and put away the leftovers, setting the casserole dish on the back of the stove for Dat. When the table was wiped and dried off, Rose sat and talked briefly with Mamm, who suggested they invite Barbara and her married daughters—Verna, Anna, and Susanna—to put up a nice big batch of beans—string, snap, and can them.

  “We’ll have us a work frolic.”

  “Jah, and I’ll get to see Anna’s new little one again,” Rose said, thinking of Anna’s April baby, named Barbianne after Barbara, who was very pleased about having a namesake.

  Mamm loved the idea of seeing her friend’s new grandbaby, especially now that she was expecting another grandchild of her own. Hen and Brandon had been delighted to tell them of the baby due this fall, but no one seemed more excited about the news than the big-sister-to-be.

  “I’d like to have Hen and Mattie Sue come, too,” Mamm added. “And Brandon, as well, if he can spare the time.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Rose said. “Hen says Brandon spends far fewer hours at the office now.”

  Together, they settled on next Friday as the day for the frolic. Rose then suggested that Hen and Mattie Sue might also help her weed the vegetable garden out back. How she loved watching Mattie Sue talk to the
worms she found in the rich soil, getting her fingernails dirty and pressing her little hands deep into the dirt.

  Rose headed out to check on the next line of clothes while Mamm responded to her circle letters. Rose had wrapped her hair in a quick coil of a bun after dressing this morning, and already the loose strands were tickling her neck. Given that Nick was in the area, she wished she’d done a neater job. From a distance, he certainly had looked better-groomed than she’d ever seen him. And with that thought, she let go a soft laugh.

  Glancing over at the woodworking shop, she wondered where Dat had gone. Something must’ve come up with one of her brothers, maybe—or a farming neighbor. She hadn’t looked for the family carriage or the market wagon, neither one.

  Rose was so deep in thought, she was startled nearly out of her wits when Nick appeared from behind the potting shed.

  “Ach!” She stepped back, her heart racing. “I didn’t see you there.” She scrutinized him.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you, Rosie,” he said, still very worldly looking in his English clothes. The green of his short-sleeve shirt highlighted his strong, tanned arms. “It’s great to see you.”

  She tried to say something nice in reply like “You too, Nick,” but the words were stuck.

  He chuckled, his dark eyes shining. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  She eyed him curiously—his English haircut, his crisp, clean shirt and pressed trousers in light colors, no less. “No, but you certainly have!”

  He smiled his old mischievous smile . . . the one he’d reserved only for her, out in the stable, or when they’d taken Pepper and George riding. All those years. “Want to take the horses for a run?” he said, as if sensing the direction of her musing.

  Their eyes met and her heart skipped a beat. “Just like that, Nick? Do ya really think we can pick up where we left off?” Her head spun all of a sudden.

  “Well, we have much to catch up on,” he replied. “It may be hard to believe, but I’ve come to set things right.”