When Mercy Rains

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Suzanne followed, taking in the appearance of the small building as they approached. Weeds had grown up all around the foundation, but she noted places where the old concrete blocks were crumbling. The screen door hung by one hinge, so Clete opened it flat against the lap siding. Weeds anchored it in place.

  Suzanne turned the doorknob, but the door didn’t budge. “Is it locked?”

  Clete stepped forward. “There’s never been a lock on it. The old wood is probably swollen from the rain.” He gave the door a solid push with his shoulder, and it groaned open. An unpleasant odor—mildew, mice, and neglect—wafted out. He made a face. “You sure you wanna go in there?”

  Suzanne shrugged. “Is there someplace else we can be alone?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then let’s go.” She entered the room, experiencing another strange sensation of stepping back in time. How many mud pies had she baked in the old cast-iron stove in the corner? She’d loved doing her homework out here, with all the windows open and a sweet breeze washing through. Now rusty patches dotted the majestic old stove and its pipe lay across the floor. A once-white painted wood table and two Windsor chairs remained in the middle of the floor.

  Suzanne crossed to the table and pulled out a chair. It was coated with dust, but she sat gingerly on the cracked seat. The joints popped but held. Clete left the door open and took the second chair, sitting as carefully as she had. Once seated, he braced his palms on his thighs. “Will this take long? Mother likes to eat promptly at 5:45.”

  “I’ll try to make it brief.” But as she gazed into her brother’s unsmiling face, her carefully prepared speech fled, leaving jumbled, disjointed thoughts in its stead.

  Clete frowned. “What is it, Suzanne?”

  She pulled in a breath, gathering her courage. “It isn’t going to work for me to stay and care for Mother long term. She resists everything I do. I think she even resents me being here. I know you’re concerned about the cost, but if all four of us pool our resources, we should be able to afford a night nurse. Because Mother’s injury is permanent, there are programs available to provide part-time care. I’ve already put out some queries, and I’m gathering information. As soon as I have replacements available, I will return to Indiana. I wanted to let you know what I was doing.”

  Clete stared at her for a few seconds, his expression blank. Then he rose. “Okay. Is that it?”

  Suzanne released a soft, humorless laugh. She’d expected an argument. Or a series of questions. She didn’t know what to think of his emotionless acceptance. “Not quite.”

  With a sigh, he sat again.

  “Clete, the house …” She chewed her lower lip for a moment, seeking the right words, but there was no kind way to say what she thought. “It’s a mess. I realize Mother can’t do much now from her chair, but the disrepair is much older than her injury. Obviously it’s been neglected for years. Even Paul expressed concern that it might fall to ruin if something isn’t done soon.” She glanced around the dim interior of the summer kitchen. The cracked windows, peeling wallpaper, and sagging tin ceiling with exposed patches of lath where plaster had fallen away made her sad.

  She turned to Clete again. “Mother and Dad taught us to take good care of our belongings, to see them as gifts from God. I don’t understand why everything looks so run-down and unkempt. Dad wouldn’t have let things go this way.”

  Clete stood so quickly he nearly tipped the chair. “How would you know?”

  She drew back in confusion. Although the light was muted, the dirty windowpanes blocking the sun, she read anger in his square face. “Know … what?”

  “What Dad would have done. You’ve been gone for twenty years, Suzanne. People change in twenty years. How could you possibly know Dad? Or Mother, or me or Shelley or Sandra, or your nieces and nephews?” His voice grew more harsh with every additional family relationship mentioned. He shook his head, his forehead crunching into stern lines. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, but I resent you telling me what should and shouldn’t be done when you haven’t even been around to share in this family for so long.”

  Her brother’s blunt comment hurt her deeply and raised defensiveness, but she tamped down both emotions and chose a reasonable tone. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Clete. I was only asking why things look the way they do. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “And what you plan to do doesn’t make sense to me.” He curled his lips into a contemptuous snarl. “Shelley told us we were crazy, but Sandra and me hoped—” He released a low growl and swept his hand across the tabletop. Dust flew in a glittering arc toward the floor and peppered the toes of his boots. He stared at his feet for a moment, his frame stiff, and then he faced her again. His anger had faded, but Suzanne couldn’t determine whether sorrow or simple apathy replaced it.

  “You wanna know the truth? The deacons offered to give us benevolence funds to pay for a nurse. But I told them no. I told them to save those funds for somebody who really needs them. We have a nurse in our family, and she’ll come help. After all, that’s what families do for each other—they help.” He blew out a short huff and turned toward the window. Leaning forward, he braced his hands on the windowsill and gazed outward. “Don’t I look the fool.”

  Guilt—a far-too-familiar emotion—flooded Suzanne. She moved slowly to her brother and placed her hand on his arm. “It isn’t that I don’t care. But—”

  He jolted upright and stepped away, dislodging her hand. “Of course you don’t care. How could you? As I said, you don’t know us. You’ve been gone for so long, you probably don’t even remember teaching me to play checkers. Or how many times you rode bikes with me down to the pond to skip rocks.” His gaze narrowed into a challenging glare. “Do you remember that baby sparrow I found under the bushes? Do you remember arguing with Dad about taking care of it? He didn’t want you to—said it was just a sparrow and you should let the barn cats eat it. But you said it was one of God’s creatures and it deserved a chance to grow up and fly. So he let us keep it in an old rabbit cage, and we fed it worms and beetles and whatever else we could catch. When it was big enough, we took it out to the cornfield and let it loose.”

  Tears swam in Suzanne’s eyes, distorting her vision, but her memories were clear. She nodded. “I remember. We even prayed for it before we set it free, for God to keep it safe.”

  “Uh-huh.” Clete’s gaze shifted to somewhere beyond Suzanne’s shoulder. He seemed to drift away into his memories. “We held hands while we watched the bird fly off, and I thought then my big sister could fix anything.” He gave a little jolt and shot a resentful look at her. “When you’re eight, you’re pretty gullible. By the time you’re in your thirties you should know better.”

  She whisked away her tears with her fingertips. “I’m sorry for letting you down. But Mother doesn’t want me here. And I—”

  He clomped past her and paused on the threshold. Sunshine lit his serious face and brought out the bronze of his skin. He looked so much like their father, more tears spurted into Suzanne’s eyes. He flicked a loose curl of paint from the doorjamb with his fingertip and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. As I said, people change. It’s my fault for thinking you were still the sister I remembered.” A tight smile formed on his face. “We’ve managed this long without you. I guess we don’t need you after all.” He strode off without a backward glance.

  Abigail

  Abigail felt a bit like a Roman goddess reclining in her lounge chair while Tanya, Alexa, and the children sat in a circle on a tattered quilt spread on the grass. Although they tried to include her—Tanya was especially ingratiating, continually asking her questions and offering her another scoop of fruit salad, more jam for her biscuit—Abigail was still apart, separated by the height of the lounger and her own self-imposed isolation.

  She nibbled at a crisply fried chicken wing, listening to Julie and Jana squabble and Tanya referee. Tanya was so diplomatic. So patient. Abigail remembered being p
atient that way with her children. When she was young. Before the weight of guilt and the entanglement of lies had taken control of her. People blamed her ill temper and intolerance on her widowed state or the accident. But she knew better. Even before she’d lost Cecil and then the use of her legs, she’d lost her happiness. She had no hope of regaining any of them. So why shouldn’t she be bitter?

  Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to drift away. She’d always loved picnics. The children’s merry chatter, the fresh spring breeze, and the aromas from the food teased her senses and carried her back to other days, other picnics, when she’d knelt on the blanket and doled out chicken legs and sandwiches and fruit to her children. Her lighthearted voice rang in the recesses of her mind—“Careful, Clete, don’t spill your lemonade or the ants will come marching two by two.” The days were sweet in her memory, and longing to return to those simpler, carefree times nearly turned her heart inside out.

  “Daddy!”

  The happy, childish voice reminded Abigail of her Sandra as a five-year-old greeting Cecil when he returned from his work in the fields. She opened her eyes, expecting to see Cecil amble across the yard, a wide grin on his tanned face, and little Sandra with yellow braids bouncing on her skinny shoulders race to leap into his arms. A square-jawed man approached, and a golden-haired child went running, but reality crowded out the tender remembrance. Cecil was gone. Sandra was grown. And she was a foolish old woman, pining for something that could never be.

  Clete caught Jana’s hand, and the corners of his lips even tipped up in a smile as he led her back to the quilt, but deep lines marched across his forehead, speaking of an inner torment. Questions rolled through Abigail’s mind, but she kept them to herself as Clete sank down on the quilt next to his wife.

  Tanya handed him a filled plate. “I’m sorry we didn’t wait for you. The children were hungry.”

  “It’s all right. I didn’t expect you to wait.” Clete extended one leg off the quilt into the grass and balanced the plate on his thigh. He held a fork in his hand, but he didn’t dip into the food. “By the way, I asked Paul and Danny to join us. I figured we’d have enough to share with them, too.”

  Abigail stifled a groan. Wasn’t it enough to bear Suzy’s presence? Did she have to be subjected to the other one from whom she’d stolen something irreplaceable?

  Jay waved his fists in the air. “Woohoo! I get to eat with Danny!”

  “You won’t have anything left to eat if you don’t settle down,” Tanya chided. “You almost dumped your plate. Please be careful.”

  Jay whisked a sheepish look at this mother. “Sorry.” He hunkered over his food.

  Alexa frowned at Clete. “Where’s Mom? She needs to eat, too.”

  He barely glanced at his niece. “She’ll come when she’s ready.” Clete appeared to want to say something more, but then he jammed his fork into the potato salad and carried a large bite to his mouth.

  Alexa set her plate aside and rose. “I’m going to find her. Sometimes she gets so busy she forgets to eat.” She started around the blanket, but then she stopped. A smile lit her face. “Oh, here she comes. And Mr. Aldrich and his son are with her. I’ll get them some plates.”

  Abigail wanted to ignore Suzy, the way she’d been doing all day. But something—maybe her reflections of past days or maybe something undefined—pulled her gaze in the direction of her daughter’s approach. Suzy, the Aldrich boy, and Aldrich himself moved across the thick, greening grass. Soft, early evening sunlight bathed them in a gentle glow and combined their shadows into one large undulating form. The boy, who walked between them, was jabbering, his hands flying in wild gestures, his face turning to his father and then to Suzy. The adults laughed softly, and the man curled his hand around his son’s neck while sending a smile at Suzy.

  Abigail’s breath caught in her throat as an idea formed. She’d thought it impossible to regain what she’d lost. But might there be a way to redeem at least some of her former happiness? She’d sent Suzy away from the one she’d claimed to love. If she brought them together again, might some of this heavy burden of guilt be lifted?

  Although she’d vowed to scare Suzy back to Indiana as quickly as possible, a second plan now took shape in her mind. Suzy had taken a two-month leave of absence. Six weeks still remained of that time. Six weeks to rekindle what Paul and Suzy had once felt for each other. Six weeks to restore a portion of what she’d stolen from them.

  Paul and Danny dropped onto the quilt next to Jay while Suzy sat next to Alexa. On opposite sides from each other. Abigail tightened her jaw in frustration. Six weeks … would it be enough? She’d better start now.

  “Mr. Aldrich?”

  Abigail didn’t realize she’d screeched his name until all conversation around the quilt stopped and everyone stared at her in surprise. Heat filled her face, but she covered her embarrassment with a frown and a harsh command. “I was speaking to Mr. Aldrich only. The rest of you pay attention to your plates.”

  A grin toyed on the edges of the carpenter’s mouth while the others ducked their heads and flicked glances at one another from the corners of their eyes. Satisfied she’d cowed them, she addressed Paul again.

  “I don’t know what Clete is paying you to work out here, but it probably isn’t enough.”

  “What? Mother!”

  She chose to ignore her son’s disgruntled outburst. “So from now until the work is done, I want you to be our guest for meals on working days and also on Sunday noon. And of course, your son is welcome, too.”

  Tanya bounced a panicked look at Abigail. “Mother Zimmerman, tomorrow after service we’re going to Shelley’s. She might need more notice if—”

  Abigail waved her hand, dismissing Tanya’s concern. “Shelley always fixes enough for a small army. There will be plenty. If you’re worried about it, Alexa here can always bake up a couple of cakes to take along, right, Alexa?”

  She gave a slow nod, her expression wary. “Well, sure, Grandmother, if that’s what you want.”

  “Good.” Abigail smiled at Mr. Aldrich, feeling smug. “You just consider my family your family for the duration of your job.” And possibly beyond … She plucked a piece of meat from the half-eaten chicken wing and stuck it in her mouth, hoping the others would follow her example and return to eating. After a few uncertain moments, they picked up their forks and soon conversation resumed, although a bit more restrained than it had been prior to her proclamation.

  Abigail, pleased with herself, found a giggle threatening. The desire took her by surprise. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so giddy and hopeful. Surely she’d stumbled upon the perfect means of making restitution for the harm she’d inflicted on Suzy, Paul, and their daughters so many years ago … and at the same time, restoring her own happiness.

  Paul

  He shouldn’t have come. Paul leaned into the sofa cushions and cringed as Shelley slapped two more plates on the table. He couldn’t recall ever feeling as out of place as he did at this moment. Her husband, Harper, had welcomed Paul and Danny exuberantly, giving no indication he viewed them as an intrusion, but Shelley’s actions screamed otherwise. Yep, he should have refused Mrs. Zimmerman’s bold invitation. Everyone in the fellowship knew not to disrupt Shelley Unruh’s regimented schedule.

  The women—except for Mrs. Zimmerman, of course—buzzed back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room like bees zipping between a flower bed and the hive. They carried bowls of vegetables and salads, platters of ham and baked pork chops, baskets of rolls, and so many relish plates Paul lost count.

  Danny sat as still as a mouse beside him, his wide eyes watching as the center of the extended table became crowded with the bounty of food. Was Danny thinking of Sundays when he was small, when Karina was alive and healthy and able to host dinners in their home?

  Back before Karina got sick, they’d enjoyed Sundays with lots of food and lots of guests. Paul had bantered with the men in the living room, just as Clete did now with h
is brothers-in-law, while Karina and the women prepared the table and the children chased in and out, earning reprimands from every direction. Although Shelley’s behavior raised a prickle of unease, the remembrances were sweet. And the smells drifting from the dining room were wonderful. His stomach growled in anticipation. He wanted to enjoy the meal, to fellowship with this big, boisterous family. But he wouldn’t linger. As soon as they’d finished eating, he’d leave.

  Finally Shelley stepped into the wide doorway and sent an unsmiling look at her husband. “Harper, we need the piano bench. Everyone, gather around. Hurry now before the food is cold.”

  The men leaped to action as if given an order from an army sergeant. Clete pushed Mrs. Zimmerman’s chair to the table while the others all slid into chairs without a moment’s pause. Paul, his hand on Danny’s shoulder, waited until the others were settled so he didn’t accidentally take someone else’s assigned spot.

  Harper carried in the piano bench and placed it at the end of the table. Shelley pointed at the leather-upholstered bench. “Paul and Danny, have a seat.”

  “Shelley …” Harper grimaced. “They aren’t going to fit on that thing together.”

  “Where else can I put them? We’ve used up everything including the rickety folding chairs putting everyone else around the table.” Shelley lowered her voice to a raspy whisper, but it still carried clearly across the room.

  Mrs. Zimmerman spoke up. “Put Ruby and Pearl on the bench. They’re small enough to fit.”

  Shelley scowled. “I have Ruby and Pearl near me so I can help them with their plates.”

  “I’m right here close. I’ll help them.”

  A collective, startled gasp rose from half of the adults. Paul gawked in surprise at Mrs. Zimmerman, too. Normally she was telling the youngsters to go somewhere else—they were grating on her nerves.

  “Ruby and Pearl, come sit by Grandma,” Mrs. Zimmerman went on, seemingly oblivious to Shelley’s seething and the others’ shock. “Shelley, you can sit there next to Harper now, and Danny and Paul can take the remaining two chairs. Danny, sit next to Mrs. Unruh so she and your father aren’t bumping elbows. She’s left-handed and tends to swing her elbow out too far sometimes.”