That explained the absence of the affable pooch and the presence of the odd wooden framework built over the porch steps. She’d meant to ask Clete about both when he came by the house.
Paul went on. “So if you intend to hang clothes on the line, you’ll need to go out through the front door.”
Suzanne had no desire to lug baskets of wet laundry all the way through the house, past Mother on the porch, and then around to the backyard. “We used to hang our wet clothes on lines in the basement during the winter months or on rainy days. I’ll just hang everything down there today.” She hadn’t been in the basement since her return. Were the lines still up? She swallowed a laugh. Why wouldn’t they be there? It didn’t seem as though much else had changed in the past two decades.
She stepped closer to the sagging screen and peered at Paul through a sizable tear in the mesh. “I know you’re remodeling the kitchen and bathroom and putting in ramps to accommodate Mother, but are you planning to do any other work out here?”
Paul’s brow crinkled. “Such as?”
She hurried to the washer, turned off the faucets, and flipped the switch to activate the rotator. The machine chug-chugged to life. She returned to the screen and raised her voice to be heard over the washer’s loud motor. “Well, painting for one thing. It’s all peeling and looks awful.”
Suzanne frowned, looking from the four-inch lap siding to the mesh screen enclosing the porch. She touched the ragged tear. “The porch screen needs to be tightened or replaced. And the floor slopes downward. The entire place has fallen into serious disrepair.”
“I know.”
His regret-filled voice pulled her attention from the house. As she looked him full in his face, she realized the years had also weathered him, adding crow’s feet to the corners of his eyes and etching a sharp V between his eyebrows. A few strands of gray at his temples caught the sunlight, turning silver against his dark brown, short-cropped hair. Despite the changes, she still glimpsed the handsome boy he’d been. The man he’d become was no less appealing.
She took an awkward step in reverse.
Seemingly unaware of her discomfiture, he said, “I’ve only been hired to make modifications. Clete said he had to fight your mom pretty hard just to get her to agree to the changes we’re making. But I’m concerned about the condition of the house, too. I’m afraid it’ll fall apart if someone doesn’t give it some care. Maybe you’ll be able to change your mom’s mind about fixing things up out here.”
Mother wouldn’t listen to anything Suzanne said. But she would talk to Clete.
Paul continued, his tone musing. “I don’t think the windows have even been washed since your dad passed away. But the disrepair started even before he died. It’s as though they just quit caring how the place looked. Very sad. She’s a grand old house.” He gave a little jolt, as if coming awake. “I better get to mixing this concrete. Get me that shovel, will you, Danny? And Suzy, please hook the latch on the porch door so nobody accidentally comes out before the cement is dry.”
Why did being called Suzy by Paul make her feel young and girlish again? With a quick nod, she set the little hook into its eye, then turned back to the washer. The machine had vibrated its way from the wall. If it continued, it would eventually unplug itself and could go through the screen. Paul had made a neat pile of scrap lumber left over from the kitchen demolition. She chose a sturdy length and positioned it in front of the washer’s wheels so it couldn’t roll any farther. Then she hurried inside, giving the kitchen door a solid slam behind her. But the resounding crack didn’t chase away the strange feelings coursing through her heart.
Paul
Paul showed Danny how to use the shovel’s blade to push the mixture of concrete and water back and forth until it resembled thick, gray pudding. He hid a smile at his son’s serious expression and firm grip on the shovel handle. While Danny mixed the second batch, Paul used a trowel to smooth the load they’d already dumped into the frame. Pouring cement was a mindless task. Too mindless. It allowed his thoughts to drift to places they probably shouldn’t go.
If Danny hadn’t been standing next to him, he’d have finally voiced that apology he’d been holding on to since Suzy’s arrival in Arborville. But he couldn’t say anything with Danny close by. What nine-year-old boy needed to know the man he claimed as his hero had fallen so far from grace as a youth? Someday he would confess his shortcomings to his son in the hopes Danny would learn a lesson and not make the same mistakes himself. But not yet. The boy was still too young to fully understand.
Holding back the words, though, was getting harder and harder.
“Dad? I think it’s done.”
Danny’s call pulled Paul from his reverie. He rose and crossed to the wheelbarrow, gave the shovel an experimental swirl, then smiled and rubbed his hand over Danny’s sweaty head. “You’re right. It’s ready. Good job. Let’s get it poured and then you can mix up one more batch, huh?”
Danny wrinkled his nose. His mother had made a face just like that when she was teasing Paul about something. The reminder created an ache in the center of Paul’s chest. “Another one? My arms are about to fall off.”
Paul laughed, the brief pang of melancholy dissipating. “All right. I’ll mix the next one while you rest your arms, okay?”
Danny smiled his approval, and the two of them pushed the wheelbarrow to the form. Paul tipped the bed on its nose. The concrete oozed out like thick cake batter, and Danny used the shovel to scrape the edges and bottom of the wheelbarrow. While Paul mixed the next batch, Suzy entered the porch, wrung the sheets into a basket, then started a load of what looked like dresses. She didn’t even glance in their direction, which bothered him. And then he got aggravated at himself for being bothered. He turned his focus to his work.
The third wheelbarrow-full completely filled the form, and Paul troweled it smooth, then used a stiff-bristled broom to rough up the surface of the ramp.
“What’re you doing that for, Dad?”
Paul continued working as he answered his son. “Think about the sole of your sneakers. Are they smooth or grooved?”
Danny balanced on one foot to check the underside of his shoe. “It’s got lines and circles.”
“What are they for?”
The boy dropped his foot and then scratched his chin the way Paul often did when he was deep in thought. “So I don’t fall down?”
“That’s right. Smooth soles will let you slip around, but ridges give you traction and help you hold your footing.”
“So those ridges in the cement are for traction?”
Paul grinned and gave the concrete one final sweep. “Yep. You figured it out. Mrs. Zimmerman won’t go sliding down the ramp in her wheelchair, thanks to the traction.”
Danny stared at the wet concrete for a moment. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to go zi-i-i-i-ing?” He swooped his arm.
Paul chuckled. “Maybe for you, but I doubt Mrs. Zimmerman would enjoy it.” He dropped the broom and shovel into the wheelbarrow and headed for the water pump to clean his equipment.
Danny trotted alongside him. “I talked to Mrs. Zimmerman’s daughter this morning. You know, the one who’s staying here—the one who’s a nurse.”
Paul’s pulse sped at the mention of Suzy, but he hid it by giving the pump’s handle several emphatic thrusts up and down. “Yeah. What about her?”
“I asked her a question and she didn’t answer me.”
Water spurted from the rusty spout. Paul flicked a glance at his son while sloshing water through the wheelbarrow bed. “What did you ask?”
“I asked her if she was gonna live here now because Mrs. Zimmerman needs help. And she acted like she didn’t hear me, but I know she did.” He angled his head and peeked at his father through thick eyelashes. “Was I nosy?”
Paul was pleased Danny would worry about being rude. He was a good boy. “Maybe a little,” Paul said as he emptied the wheelbarrow and watched the water paint the grass a grayish hue. He f
illed the wheelbarrow a second time. “Or maybe she just isn’t sure yet.”
Danny offered a look that said, Really? “Seems like she ought to know, Dad.”
According to Clete she’d taken a leave of absence rather than quitting her job. Although Mrs. Zimmerman needed a nurse, he’d seen how the woman treated her daughter. He wouldn’t blame Suzy a bit for catching the earliest flight back to Indiana, but a part of him wished she would stick around, make Arborville her home again. He just wasn’t completely sure why he wanted it—for her, her family, or for himself.
He finished swishing the side of the wheelbarrow and tipped out the water. He placed his damp hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Whether she stays or not is her business, and we shouldn’t pester her about it.”
His son’s eyes widened. “I didn’t pester her!”
Paul smiled and squeezed Danny’s shoulder before curling his hand around the wheelbarrow handle. “I didn’t say you did. One question isn’t pestering.” He headed for the barn, Danny at his side. “But asking a second time would be nosy. So don’t ask, okay?”
Danny sighed. “Okay. But Jay sure hopes she stays. He was tired of having to come out here all the time with his mom. He said his grandma is real grumpy, and he doesn’t like to be around her.”
“People who are sad are usually grumpy.” Paul often reminded himself of that truth to keep from snapping at the crotchety woman. “Tell Jay he needs to practice compassion.”
“All right.”
They stopped outside the barn doors. Pepper’s whines begged him to let her out, but Paul turned to Danny. “And something else …”
Danny looked upward, his expression attentive.
“Talking about people isn’t a very kind thing to do. I know you’re curious about Mrs. Zimmerman’s daughter. It’s hard not to be, considering how few new people come to Arborville.” Paul spoke kindly yet firmly. He didn’t want Danny establishing a habit of talking behind others’ backs. “But instead of talking to Jay or your other friends about Su—about the Zimmermans, you should just come to me if you have questions. All right?”
Danny toed the grass with his sneaker, his head low. “Um … Dad?”
“What is it?”
“Do you … A long time ago, did …” His son squirmed in place.
Paul caught Danny’s chin and lifted his face. “Speak plain. What is it?”
Danny swallowed, his wide eyes pinned on Paul’s face. He blurted, “Jay said his dad said you and his aunt were gonna get married, but then she went away and you married Mom instead. Some of the bigger girls thought maybe you’d want to court her again since Mom’s gone.”
Paul lowered his hand with a jerk. The kids at school were discussing Suzy and him? They were all too young to know he’d once wanted to marry her, so their parents must be talking. His face burned.
Danny went on, his innocent voice stinging Paul. “So would you want to, Dad? Court Jay’s aunt, I mean?”
Alexa
“Did you leave a beau behind in Indiana?”
Alexa looked up from the Alcott novel she’d selected from the shelf in the upstairs landing. She and Grandmother had sat on the porch in silence—Grandmother in the lounger and Alexa on the swing—for nearly two hours. Not that she hadn’t tried to engage her grandmother in conversation. She’d asked several questions about the farm, the town of Arborville, chitchatty topics. But Grandmother’s clipped answers had discouraged her. So the sudden question, a question one might consider to be personal, took her by surprise.
“Um … no.” She laughed softly. “Actually I don’t date much.”
Grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “A pretty girl like you? Why not?”
Alexa wasn’t sure how to respond. All through school, she’d had several friends, both girls and boys. Rather than breaking into couples, they’d gone as a group to sporting events, the theater, or the bowling alley. One boy, Trevor Key, had taken her to the junior and senior proms, and once they’d gone out for pizza and a movie by themselves, but she hadn’t felt anything special for Trevor. Apparently he’d felt the same because he never asked her again.
She finally shrugged. “I guess the right boy hasn’t come along yet.”
Grandmother released a little humph. Alexa waited for a few minutes, but when her grandmother lay with linked hands over her belly, gazing across the yard, she returned to reading. She’d nearly finished another chapter when Grandmother suddenly spoke again.
“What about your mother?”
Confused, Alexa frowned. “What about her?”
Grandmother huffed. “Dating. Does your mother date?”
Alexa set the book aside. “I’m not sure I should answer that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because it’s Mom’s business, not mine.”
Grandmother rolled her eyes. Alexa found the gesture annoying. She vowed not to do it anymore. She reached for the book.
“I’d ask your mother, but she doesn’t talk to me.” Grandmother sounded bitter. And maybe a little hurt. “That’s why I asked you. But if you want to keep secrets …”
Alexa sighed. “Grandmother, I’m not keeping secrets. I just think it would be better if you talked to Mom about her dating life.”
Grandmother’s face lit up. “So she has one? A dating life?”
How had she gotten herself backed into this corner? Alexa tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gathered her thoughts. She could only recall two times when Mom had gone on dates. Both times Alexa had stayed with Linda and Tom, and both times Mom had come back before Alexa’s bedtime. As a kid she hadn’t seen any significance in the early return, but now it spoke volumes.
Alexa chose a careful answer. “Mom is busy with her job at the hospital, with church, and with friends. She doesn’t go out on dates, but I don’t think she minds. She’s happy with her life.”
Grandmother gazed at Alexa, her lips pressed tight and her forehead crinkled into furrows. Several seconds ticked by before she snapped, “She’s happy? You’re sure?”
“Yes, Grandmother. I’m sure.”
“She’s happy. That’s good.” Grandmother turned her face and stared outward. She seemed to forget Alexa was there. “Yes, it’s good. But even so, she could have had so much more …” She fell silent again, blinking so slowly Alexa could count the sweeps of her short, straight eyelashes. After seven blinks, her eyes slid closed.
Alexa waited a little longer for her to speak again. When Grandmother remained silent, Alexa reached for her book. But as her fingers brushed the novel’s cover, she noticed one lone tear trailing from the corner of her grandmother’s closed eye downward where it disappeared in the peach fuzz on her jaw.
Suzanne
When Clete’s pickup pulled into the yard, Suzanne was waiting. As soon as he turned off the ignition, she scuffed tiredly across the yard. All the treks up and down the basement stairs with baskets of laundry had exhausted her. Or maybe she should blame the many trips down memory lane her brief conversation with Paul had inspired.
Tanya slid out first and came at Suzanne with open arms. She bestowed a hug, the ribbons from her cap tickling Suzanne’s cheek, then pulled back and smiled.
“We brought fried chicken, potato salad, that Jell-O fruit salad with the little marshmallows Mother Zimmerman likes so much, and biscuits. Picnic fare! We thought we’d spread blankets on the ground and enjoy this nice May weather before it gets too hot to be outdoors.”
“That sounds fine,” Suzanne said.
The truck’s back door popped open, and the children spilled out, whooping in excitement. Pepper, still locked in the barn, barked in response. After listening to the pound of Paul’s hammer all afternoon, Suzanne’s senses were in overdrive. The cacophony pierced her ears. She winced.
“Jay Cletus Zimmerman!” Tanya caught hold of her son’s arm. “Julie and Jana, you too, stop that hollering. You’ll upset your grandmother.”
Laughing instead of yelling, the trio took off for the b
arn. Suzanne cupped her hands and called after them, “Don’t let Pepper out!” They waved in response.
Tanya turned an apologetic expression on Suzanne. “They’ve been wound up like this all day. I think being cooped up for so many rainy days has left them with pent-up energy.”
Suzanne forced a smile. “It’s all right.” She moved around to Clete, who was lifting a large wicker basket from the truck’s bed. “I need to talk to you.”
He set the basket on the ground and reached for the second one. “Sure. We can talk while we eat.”
“I mean in private.”
Tanya stepped close. “Alexa can help me set up for supper. You two could go to the summer kitchen. No one will bother you there.”
Clete glanced at Suzanne. “That okay with you?”
Suzanne had loved the old summer kitchen when she was growing up. Using it for a playhouse rather than its intended purpose, she’d wiled away many days in the cheerful little building. She nodded.
Clete handed Tanya the basket. “All right then. Come on, Suze.”
They walked side by side behind the house where Paul’s truck still sat beneath a towering cottonwood tree, its back hatch down and tools scattered across the bed. Clete slowed when they neared the newly poured ramp. Splotches of lighter gray showed where the cement had started to dry.
Suzanne pointed. “You’ll want to keep the kids off the ramp. Paul said we shouldn’t use it until tomorrow evening.”
Clete stopped and frowned at the ramp for a few moments, then he set off for the toolshed at the corner of the yard. He returned with a hammer, two wooden stakes, and a coil of rope. He pounded the stakes into the ground, then used the rope to create a barrier around the ramp. He stepped back and nodded at his handiwork. “That should tell the kids to keep away.” Hooking the hammer in the loop on his work pants, he set off again in the direction of the summer kitchen.
When Mercy Rains Page 12