The Mercy

by Beverly Lewis

  Later, during the meal Rose served, Barbara announced that Nick would be at the next Preaching. “All of you can see him there,” she said with confidence.

  Rose wondered if Nick would confess openly to the members his part in Christian’s death. She shivered as she remembered that horrifying day.

  “We’ll stand with ya through this,” Mamm offered.

  Looking serious, Arie Zook nodded her head, as well, and Rose assented as she recalled Dat’s counsel the day Nick returned. Everyone here was in one accord. Except for Hen, perhaps, but she was really only on the outside looking in. Like the Petersheims, they would welcome Nick back with open arms . . . yet it remained to be seen how the ministerial brethren would receive him.

  A wood thrush in the undergrowth along the road sang momentarily, then quieted as Rose Ann walked past at twilight on Saturday. The darkness crept up so much later now than when she and Isaac had first started seeing each other last winter. It made for a shorter amount of time to spend together before the wee hours. Of course Rose had never cared to be out much past midnight, which Dat and Mamm appreciated. Rose was mindful that her parents were inclined to lie awake till she arrived home.

  As she walked, she breathed in the freshness of the evening hour. The neighbors’ cows had long since wandered into the barn in their usual lone line. And just beyond the crest of the hill, where Deacon Esh and his family lived, an owl screeched high on a thick bough, calling to another owl down pasture. Rose had thought of the deacon and the two preachers plenty of times since Nick’s arrival. But she had no idea what the Bart bishop thought of the whole prickly situation. She wasn’t about to ask Isaac, because he most likely wouldn’t know anyway.

  Isaac greeted her warmly and helped her into his shiny open buggy. She still couldn’t believe he traveled five miles to come and see her, especially last winter in the cold and wind. Only once had he asked his Mennonite cousin to drive him by car to get Rose.

  Each weekend, she anticipated their dates. There were always interesting things to talk about, or new and compelling stories to tell, many of them humorous. Tonight was no exception as Isaac was nearly on the edge of his seat about an upcoming trip to Ocean City, New Jersey, that would encompass next weekend. His English employer, Ed Morton, had invited him to go along on their family vacation, of all things, and because Isaac had never been to the ocean, he’d readily accepted. “Just think of seeing those big beaches, and the wind on the waves. I’m even going to try my hand—well, feet—at surfing.”

  She enjoyed his enthusiasm but knew she’d miss him.

  “I hope you won’t feel I’m neglecting ya, Rose.”

  She shook her head. “How’s that possible?”

  He drew her near. “You’re a peach, ya know that? And I’m the happiest man alive.”

  Snuggling in, she enjoyed the nearness of him, even on such a warm evening, but wondered why her heart didn’t beat as fast as when she and Nick had embraced. Quickly, she dismissed the thought, knowing Isaac would make her a mighty fine husband, handsome and attentive as he was.

  Isaac talked of his fieldwork during the past week, how Ed had him doing all sorts of interesting things. She enjoyed the cadence of his words, the way he expressed himself. And she felt so included in his life, although she’d never met Ed Morton or his family. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt Isaac loved her—her and no one else.

  Isaac said his good-byes to Rose after walking with her halfway up the lane. She called her own farewell, then hastened toward the house, the air still warm around her.

  A shadowy figure wearing a hat waited near the back door of the house, sitting on the stoop. What the world?

  “Rosie . . .” a low voice said as the man rose—Nick!

  “What’re ya doin’ here?” The idea he would be so brazen, well, she couldn’t fathom what he was up to.

  “Thought we could go walking.” He looked up at the sky, bright with moonlight.

  “I’ve already been out for hours.”

  “With your beau?”

  Rose didn’t feel she should have to acknowledge that. “I’m goin’ inside.”

  “Can you spare a few minutes?”

  “Dat will wonder where—”

  “Aw, he’s asleep, Rosie.”

  She looked at Nick, frowning now. It was unthinkable to go from being with Isaac to spending time with another fellow on the selfsame night. “Lots of parents lie awake till their daughters are home,” she replied.

  “Give me ten minutes. That’s all.”

  “What for?”

  “We’re friends. We could always talk to each other . . . about everything.”

  She hesitated before saying it. “Don’t you think those days are gone?”

  “Do they have to be?”

  She felt terribly strange talking to him so privately like this.

  “There are many things you don’t know, and I’d like a chance to set the record straight,” he said.

  She felt a sudden breeze and shuddered, thinking of the afternoon Christian and Nick had gone riding together. She’d seen the aftermath—Christian all laid out and bleeding on the table in Barbara’s kitchen, dying. Turning away, she shook her head. “I’d rather not,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to hurt ya, Nick.”

  He brushed her elbow, his touch gentle. “But I hurt you. I read it in your letter.”

  The letter. Oh, how she wished she’d never written it! “Don’t say any more, Nick. Please.”

  “Just listen—I need to say this.” His gaze was solemn. “I’m truly sorry, Rosie. I wish I could make it up to you.”

  “To me?” Her lip trembled as she thought of poor, dead Christian. “What about Barbara . . . and the bishop? What about them?”

  “I know, believe me, I do.” He raised his hands, palms up. “There aren’t any easy answers.”

  She shook her head. “That’s true.” Yet Barbara had welcomed him home.

  “Rosie . . . please.”

  “I couldn’t be more pleased that you’ve come to make things right for the bishop. But it might be best if we don’t go walking tonight. Or any night, really.”

  He stepped back slowly. “I understand.”

  It was so unlike Nick to let her be without any teasing that Rose was momentarily silent. Then her voice returned. “Denki now . . . and good night.”

  He turned and left quickly, heading for the shortcut beneath the trees that fairly glistened in the moonlight.

  She remembered how delighted Barbara had been the day Nick returned . . . and at the work frolic, too. Nick’s foster mother had encouraged everyone present to open their arms to receive him back.

  Rose sighed as she watched her old friend hurry toward the grazing land, his head bowed. I’ve been unnecessarily harsh.

  She should’ve gone right into the house, then and there. With all of her heart, she knew she should just step inside the safety of Dat’s house, put on her cotton gown, and dream sweet dreams of Isaac. Her wonderful-gut father would warn her against spending even a speck of time with the likes of Aaron’s prodigal, if he were awake and lying in bed next to Mamm, wondering why on earth his Rosie-girl was out so late.

  Rose should never have followed Nick into the shelter of the canopy of trees to hear whatever was on his heart. But a true friend didn’t shun another. And it was the place of the People to show mercy and offer forgiveness . . . like the Lord required of them.

  Sol held his breath where he stood at the open hallway window. He’d heard voices, although hushed at first. Sol hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but it was impossible not to hear what was being said—Nick’s urgent plea to explain something to his daughter. And Rose’s unswerving resistance.

  Till now.

  His heart fell when he saw her hurrying toward the dirt path between the farms, and he leaned on the window frame to steady himself. Did I influence her wrongly?

  He’d ofttimes regretted the day Nick had come to live next door, and now was one of those times. He obser
ved Rose Ann catch up with Nick just before the trees. Nick turned quickly when he heard her call—turning with great surprise, no doubt. Sol couldn’t see his face, but he remembered all too well how a young fellow feels when in love with a beautiful girl, and he was mighty sure Nick’s pulse was racing with more than gladness this very moment.

  For hours now, Hen had been lying awake, rising to check on her feverish little girl. Concerned, Hen prayed that Mattie’s fever would break by morning. The sleepless night was one of many to come, she knew, as she would soon be caring for a newborn. To think she’d come so close to never having another baby.

  Sitting up in bed now, Hen looked over at her sleeping husband, thankful they’d reconciled their differences. A blessing in every way.

  They’d had plenty to hammer out, no question about that. But she had stepped lightly where Plain tradition was concerned, surprising herself that she didn’t mind driving a car when the need arose, or using electric appliances. No longer did she go without makeup; she put a small amount of mascara and lip gloss on when she went out with Brandon—the natural look. And she wore her hair swept up in a comb in back, other times in a loose ponytail, or even bouncy and free, with relaxed curls. She also preferred fashionable skirts and dresses to the cape dresses and aprons she’d favored last fall.

  The same was not true for Mattie Sue, who continued to childishly cling to the Amish way of dressing and doing her hair. Hen assumed, given enough time, Mattie Sue would abandon the traditional Plain garb and hair bun, just as she had the Kapp. For now, both Hen and Brandon were fine with it.

  Getting up again, she pushed her bare feet into soft slippers and headed to Mattie Sue’s room. Filtered light from the moon shone through the blinds, making a vertical design on the pastel yellow bedsheet. She felt Mattie’s forehead and cheek. Still very warm. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hen reached for Mattie’s feverish hand and prayed.

  After a time, she went to get a wet washcloth and dabbed it against her daughter’s face. Mattie stirred in her sleep as Hen placed the washcloth against her forehead. Her temperature reading had indicated a low-grade fever hours earlier, when Hen tucked Mattie Sue in for the night. But the fever had spiked in the past two hours. She wondered if Mattie Sue had picked up a flu bug from Becky Zook at the work frolic yesterday; even considering the day’s heat, her friend’s daughter had looked rather flushed. It seemed strange, though, for Mattie to come down with something so quickly. She thought of waking her again to give her more ice chips to keep her hydrated.

  Hen decided to wait awhile, letting Mattie sleep. She padded down the hall, enjoying the comforts of this lovely old house, completely renovated by the former owners. They were truly the happy recipients of some very meticulous hard work.

  Going to look out the dormer window in Brandon’s upstairs office, Hen raised the blinds and surveyed the road and fields showered in moonlight. Rose was possibly still out with her beau tonight.

  Even though she knew her sister continued to see someone, Hen was unnerved at Nick Franco’s return. She could not forget how close the two of them had been, nor the look of affection she’d seen in Nick’s eyes the day he’d carried her sister into the house after she’d injured her leg. With Nick so close by, Hen worried they might resume their old friendship, which was anything but a good idea.

  Still, I’m not one to object.

  She closed the blinds and went back to look in on Mattie Sue. This time she talked to her quietly, raising her enough to slip several pieces of chipped ice into her mouth. “This’ll cool you some, sweetie,” she whispered before kissing her damp forehead. It appeared the fever was beginning to break.

  When Hen was satisfied that Mattie Sue was peacefully asleep once again, she made her way back to her own bed, where she found Brandon wide awake and propped up on his pillow.

  She went to the pine chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out an extra pillow, then curled up next to him.

  “How’s Mattie Sue feeling?” he asked.

  “Better.”

  “Oh good.” He lowered his head to look at her. “I can’t say I’ve slept very much.”

  “Like a worried Mamma, perhaps?”

  “Like you, Hen.” The tenderness in his tone warmed her heart.

  “Well, she’s going to be all right.”

  He laced his fingers through hers and was quiet for a while. Then he said softly, “How would you like to visit the little country church again sometime?”

  They’d visited several other congregations, but none had seemed quite right. “I’d like that,” she said, “but Mattie Sue won’t be well enough tomorrow.”

  He agreed, then said thoughtfully, “You haven’t asked to attend your parents’ church.”

  “No,” she said. “The service is given in high German, so you wouldn’t get much out of it.”

  He poked her playfully. “Who are you . . . and what have you done with my wife?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She chuckled, yet she did wonder where they’d end up finding a church home for their growing family.

  “We could sit with Bruce and his wife and little girl next Sunday, perhaps?” He reminded her that there had even been two Plain couples in attendance last time they’d gone. “Remember?”

  The latter was meant to be the selling point, of course. Brandon was the ultimate negotiator. How else had he persuaded her to marry an Englischer?

  “Mattie Sue won’t stick out so much then, jah?”

  “She’s only five. Who cares what people might think?”

  If only she could be more like Brandon in that regard. “So you really like this church best out of the several we’ve visited?”

  “Well, the sermon last time really got me thinking.”

  She listened attentively, so thankful for the transformation in her husband.

  “The minister talked about a young man in the Old Testament who was terribly wronged, yet persevered in his faith in the midst of persecution. The pastor said that his fortitude came from his faith—that God was in control no matter what was happening around him.”

  “Was it Joseph?”

  “Yes.” He rolled over and kissed her. “Joseph with his amazing technicolor dreamcoat. Only this was after the coat was taken by his brothers and they’d sold him to strangers. Imagine that?”

  Hen was enjoying this. The country preacher had managed to grab Brandon’s attention, just as Aaron Petersheim had. Who could ever doubt that God was the ultimate lover, the great pursuer? Last year at this time, her husband would never have talked like this—and in the middle of the night, no less!

  “Yes, I’d like to go with you to that church again,” she murmured before falling asleep in his arms.

  Surprise registered on Nick’s face as he turned to see Rose there on the dirt path. “I’m sorry,” she said, wringing her hands. “I didn’t mean to be rude before.”

  He smiled in the dim moonlight beneath the dense trees. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  She nodded hesitantly, still not sure she’d made the right decision. “We were friends for a gut long time.” She began to walk alongside him. “And I want to hear what you have to say.”

  “I had my own version of Rumschpringe, Rosie. And during that time I came to realize who I am.”

  “Jah?”

  “I’m Aaron Petersheim’s son.” Nick paused and looked at the bishop’s barn in the near distance. “And I’m Amish. I couldn’t leave this life, hard as I tried. What the bishop taught me actually took. I just didn’t know it.”

  “Till now?”

  “Yes, until recently.” He glanced at her. “I wanted to finish out the spring semester—needed to let things play out. I had to see how I might fit in as a modern man first.”

  “Beyond the edge, ya mean?”

  He nodded.

  “So . . . it wasn’t all you thought it would be?”

  “Not even close. The world didn’t make me happy. I missed Amish life, missed everything about it.”


  She shook her head. “I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up and find this is all a dream.”

  “Good or a bad one?”

  Rose shrugged and looked away, so intent was his gaze. “Seems like you’ve been gone forever . . . and yet—”

  He inhaled thoughtfully. “What?”

  “Ach, it’s like you never left.”

  “Being with you here, like this . . . walking and talking like we used to, I think I know what you mean.”

  She was silent—she needed to resist the yearning, the feelings that had once been so strong. She feared the embers were still alive, waiting to be fanned into flame.

  “We should go riding sometime. I know I suggested it before, but how do you feel about it?”

  Give him an inch and he wants a mile, she thought. Just as before . . .

  “Nick, we need to remain just friends.” She remembered how he’d pushed things past friendship in the ravine—the earnest tone in his voice as he’d told her he loved her.

  He sighed. “Sure, we’ll keep things friendly . . . since you’re nearly engaged.”

  She was relieved . . . and oddly, a little disappointed, too.

  They moved to the part of the path deepest in the trees. Here only glimmers of moonlight pierced through the thick canopy of leaves, but Rose knew the moon was now in the west. It was much too late; she should return home.

  “What do you say we go see Pepper. Want to?”

  “At this hour?”

  “It’s nice and quiet in the stable.”

  “I must go back, Nick. You don’t know my Dat, if ya honestly think he’s asleep.” She glanced back at the house. “Even Mamm might be awake.”

  “All right,” he said reluctantly. “But first let me tell you that I’m going to start baptismal instruction and join church with the rest of the baptismal candidates in September.”

  “Does Bishop Simon know?”

  “My dad and I are going to talk with him tomorrow. We didn’t want to wait till next Preaching, so we’re heading over to Bart to see him.”