When Mercy Rains

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Alexa nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I see him in you, Mom. All those things you just said? You’re that way, too.”

  Suzanne’s heart swelled in appreciation even as her conscience reminded her just how imperfect she really was. “Oh, honey …”

  “No, really, Mom. You’ve been that kind of example to me.” Alexa set the two jars aside and shifted to sit on her bottom. “Now I know where you learned it, and I’m glad. But I wonder …” She toyed with her ponytail, her expression thoughtful. “How did you—and Sandra, too—pick up those traits when Clete and Shelley didn’t seem to get it? They’re both so …” She made a face.

  “Negative?”

  “I was thinking more like perpetually disagreeable.” Alexa sighed and plucked a blade of grass. She twisted it gently between her fingers, seeming to examine the play of sun on the tiny blade as she went on. “I want to like them. They’re my family. But sometimes I don’t think they want to be liked. At least, not by me. They’re nothing like what you were just saying about your dad. It doesn’t make much sense, how two of you are so nice and two of you just aren’t.”

  Alexa tossed the bit of grass away and shrugged. “I guess Clete and Shelley are like Grandmother instead of Grandfather. Although she’s getting better. So maybe there’s hope for Clete and Shelley, too, hmm?”

  Suzanne smiled. “There’s always hope.”

  Alexa smiled back.

  Suzanne rose. “Let’s put these other jars out and then get you that pizza I promised. I don’t want you to collapse from starvation.”

  Alexa laughed lightly—a more genuine laugh—and they placed a jar in front of each of Suzanne’s grandparents’ headstones as well as the one for the uncle she’d never met. Then they walked slowly toward the car with the late-spring sun warming their heads and the light breeze kissing their cheeks with its delicate perfume.

  Alexa’s gaze shifted back and forth, and suddenly she stopped and grabbed Suzanne’s hand. “Mom, look.” She pointed to a newer headstone set off the path in a little space by itself. It looked lonely. “Is that Mr. Aldrich’s wife?”

  Suzanne stepped closer and, shielding her eyes from the sun with her cupped hand, read the stone aloud. “ ‘Karina Anne Kornelson Aldrich. Beloved wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend. Gone but not forgotten.’ ”

  “Oh, how sad.” Alexa’s tone held deep sorrow. “She’s been gone three years already. She was so young when she died.”

  Suzanne slipped her arm around Alexa’s waist. “We never know when death will knock at our door, so it’s wise to always be ready.”

  Alexa nodded somberly. “Poor Danny, growing up without a mom. I feel for him.”

  Suzanne’s heart caught.

  Alexa turned an eager look on Suzanne. “Mom, could we put that last jar of flowers in front of her grave? We don’t know her, but it just seems the right thing to do. Please?”

  Once again, Alexa’s compassionate spirit touched Suzanne. Maybe God had prompted her to bring the extra jar so Alexa could perform this small act of kindness. “Sure, that’s fine.”

  Alexa retrieved the jar, placed it next to the stone, and then tenderly fluffed the flowers. She turned, a smile of satisfaction on her pretty face, and swished her hands together. “Done. Now, how about that pizza?”

  “Let’s go.” Suzanne looped arms with her daughter and headed for the car.

  Alexa climbed in while Suzanne tossed the empty crate into the trunk. When she settled behind the steering wheel, Alexa spoke again. “By the way, Mom, I need to tell you something. Something important.”

  Had her voice held a hint of foreboding, or was it only their silent surroundings giving Suzanne the feeling that something unpleasant was about to occur? She shrugged off the odd sensation—silly to develop an aversion to cemeteries now that she was grown up when they’d never frightened her in childhood—and turned the key in the ignition. “Okay. But food first. I might even eat a slice myself. And then …” She waggled her eyebrows at her daughter. “I have an idea I think you’ll like.”

  “What is it?”

  “Never mind.” Suzanne reversed the car and then aimed it for the road. “It’s a surprise.”

  Paul

  Paul crouched on his haunches and twisted a screw into the predrilled hole to secure the first cabinet door in place. He winced, turning the screwdriver as quickly as possible so he could stand and stretch again. Every time he bent forward or picked up something, his tailbone let him know it was not happy. For two cents he’d go home. Today was a holiday, after all—weren’t the post office and the bank closed? If he’d taken the day off, he could’ve avoided being knocked on his backside and clopped in the face by the kid who used to pester him to play catch or bait his fishing hook or take him on in a game of checkers.

  Even more than his back and jaw hurt, his heart hurt.

  The front screen door slapped into its frame with a sharp crack. Startled, he jerked, and the screwdriver jumped from the screw’s slot and created a deep gouge in the new paint job. He gritted his teeth, then regretted it because the action intensified his jaw pain. Hissing through his teeth, he repositioned the screwdriver and started again.

  “Mr. Aldrich?”

  This time he yanked backward and nearly knocked himself on his seat. Catching hold of the cabinet’s door frame, he steadied himself and then looked up into Alexa’s curious face. The morning’s frustrations rolled away in one rush, and a smile formed on his lips without an ounce of effort. He stretched upright, battling against the stiffness and continued pain in his back. “Hi, Alexa. What do you need?” Whatever it was, he’d do it.

  “Mom said when she left, Grandmother was reading in the living room, but she isn’t there now. Do you know where she went?”

  Disappointment struck. He wished she wanted something more complicated. The desire to gift her, to please her, tangled him in knots. “She headed to her bedroom shortly after Su—your mother left the house. I haven’t heard any noise from in there, so she might be napping.”

  Alexa chewed her lower lip, something he already recognized as her habit when she was thinking. “I’ll go peek in at her. Thank you.” She turned and scurried off, the stiff fabric of her modest, mid-calf-length skirt snapping softly with her stride.

  Rather than returning to work, Paul remained frozen with the screwdriver gripped in his fist, his gaze on the opening leading to the dining room. Only a few moments later she returned, and he greeted her with another smile. The action hurt his jaw but lifted his spirits. “Was I right? She’s napping?”

  “Out like a light,” Alexa said with a nod that bounced her brown ponytail. Several strands of hair had come loose and formed sweat-damp squiggles around her face. If she were six years old and if she had grown up calling him Dad, he would take his comb and smooth the strands back into place. He fought a sharp pang of remorse at what he’d missed.

  She continued, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “Would you please tell her Mom and I decided to make a quick run to Wichita to see if they’re having Memorial Day sales at the mall? We’ll be back by suppertime, but if she needs something before then, Tanya said she’d be on call.”

  “Sure, I’ll tell her.” His first real favor for his daughter. He wanted to shout for joy.

  “Thanks, Mr. Aldrich. Enjoy your quiet afternoon.” She turned to leave.

  “Just a minute, Alexa.” At once, she stopped. Cringing against the pain shooting through his lower spine, he took a step toward her. “I’m sorry about this morning. About what you saw.”

  She sent him a sheepish grin. “To be honest, it looked like you were on the receiving end. You don’t need to apologize.”

  “Yes, I do.” He hadn’t been given the privilege of teaching her from childhood, and maybe it was too late to interject instruction now, but he needed to share what he believed. “Violence isn’t a way to solve problems, and allowing anger to take control of a person doesn’t glorify God. So regardless of what it looked like, Clete and I
were both involved, and we’re both at fault. So I apologize, and I ask you to forgive me.” Please, Alexa, forgive me for not being there for you when you were a baby and a little girl. Forgive me for not being there for you now …

  Her eyes grew wide, and she nodded solemnly. “Of course, Mr. Aldrich.”

  He smiled, ignoring the ache in his jaw. “Have fun shopping.”

  “Oh, we will. Mom and I always have fun together.”

  His smile faltered. Why did her cheerful statement irritate him?

  Once again she turned as if to leave, but then she spun back to face him. “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” He folded his arms over his chest and locked his knees, giving her his full attention.

  “My uncle wouldn’t tell me what you two were fighting about. He told me I should ask Mom, because it’s ‘her place’ to tell me.” She caught her lip between her teeth again, her forehead crunching. “I’d rather not ask Mom. She’s had kind of a sad day, visiting the cemetery and doing some reminiscing. So I wondered if you would tell me instead.”

  Although he’d longed to do something for her, he couldn’t bring himself to divulge the reason Clete had attacked him even if it would make things easier for her. “You know what? I think Clete is right. Your mom is the best one to answer your question.” Had he passed the responsibility to Suzy out of spite? Just in case his motives weren’t as pure as they should be, he added, “But you don’t have to ask her today if you don’t want to. Pray about it. I’ll pray for you, too. You’ll know when it’s time.”

  She gazed at him for several seconds without moving, without even blinking, as if trying to read beneath his skin. Then she nodded very slowly and walked backward, her gaze still locked on his. “All right. Thank you. Good-bye, Mr. Aldrich.” She grabbed her purse from the shelf beside the hallway and dashed off.

  Paul returned to the cabinet and squatted, but then he sat with the unused tool in his hand. He’d planned to stay out here and work until five before going after Danny, but what would it hurt to cut his day short? Mrs. Zimmerman had been asleep for over an hour already. She wouldn’t nap much longer. He’d stay until she roused so he could deliver his message from Alexa—he wouldn’t fail to honor the first promise he’d made to his daughter—and then he’d pick up Danny and they’d go together to Karina’s grave. He had the need to do some reminiscing of his own.

  Danny leaped out of the pickup and galloped toward the cemetery as exuberantly as if he were joining a game of baseball. And that boy loved playing baseball more than eating, sleeping, or anything else Paul could think of.

  Paul grabbed the cut bouquet of dyed daisies he’d picked up from the barrel at the convenience store and followed more slowly, shaking his head indulgently at his son. Wouldn’t Karina be proud of Danny? Although reckless at times and maybe a little lacking in tact—he was young, after all—he followed his conscience when it came to truthfulness, and he was openly loving. His teacher called him a good-hearted boy. Karina, who’d been the sole caretaker when Danny was small, had planted those seeds of goodness in him. Even though she was gone, her influence continued in their son’s mannerisms and behavior. She’d been a loving, diligent mom.

  Just like Suzy must have been to Alexa, based on his daughter’s kindheartedness.

  Blowing out a breath of aggravation, he pushed aside thoughts of Suzy. He had come to spend time remembering Karina.

  Danny leaped from steppingstone to steppingstone, taking a meandering journey all the way around the cemetery. With one final burst, he raced directly to the little plot where Karina’s body rested. He came to a halt in front of Karina’s unpretentious, knee-high stone, and a look of surprise broke across his face. “Dad! Dad, come here!”

  His son’s frantic call sent Paul into a clumsy trot even though every thudding footstep sent a new shaft of pain through his spine. The daisies shed petals with his jarring movements. Had someone desecrated his wife’s grave? There’d been some trouble a couple of years back when high schoolers from a neighboring community drove over late one night and vandalized the cemetery. He glanced around, seeking evidence of damage, but saw nothing out of place.

  His heart pounding, he rounded the stone and followed the line of Danny’s pointing finger. Surprise replaced his worry. A jar, one like the ladies used for canning vegetables, sat at the base of Karina’s stone. Peonies tucked into the jar created a plump, pink mushroom.

  Danny yanked at Paul’s hand. “Lookit that, Dad. Mom’s already got flowers!”

  “She sure does.” Paul frowned at the bouquet. The flowers didn’t upset him—it was a kind gesture to decorate his wife’s grave—but who would have put them there? The first year after Karina’s death, several of her friends had left little bouquets or notes at her grave, but as time went by and focus shifted, he’d been the only one to visit. So why now?

  “Betcha Alexa and her mom did it.”

  Paul jolted. “What?”

  Danny pointed to the far corner of the cemetery. “I saw flowers just like these over there. Where Mrs. Zimmerman’s husband is buried. So I betcha they did it.”

  Paul didn’t know whether to be pleased or perturbed. Before he could decide, Danny took the daisies from Paul and squatted with his bottom hovering several inches above the close-cut grass. He placed the cut flowers next to the jar, fiddling with the petals as he began a casual one-sided conversation.

  “Hi, Mom. Me and Dad came by to see you. We brought you some daisies, too. I wanted to bring roses, but Dad said they cost too much—”

  Paul cringed. At least no one else was in the cemetery to overhear his son call him a cheapskate.

  “—so we got the daisies partly because they didn’t cost so much, but mostly because there are lots of colors. Dad says you like rainbows, and those daisies look like a rainbow. Well, sort of. If rainbows were scrunched up. And shaped liked daisies.”

  Paul hid a smile.

  “I got to stay at Jeremy Theiszen’s house today instead of going to work with Dad at the Zimmerman place. We had a lot of fun building a fort in his backyard. Dad says you and Jeremy’s mom used to be friends. Maybe that’s why I like Jeremy so much, huh? He’s my best friend in my class at school. Oh!” Danny plopped down and crisscrossed his legs, as if settling in for a long talk. “School let out, and I got mostly good marks. I did best in science. Dad says that’s because I take after you—he says you liked science.”

  It suddenly occurred to Paul how many times Danny had used the phrase “Dad says” when referring to details about Karina. Granted he’d not yet turned six years old when Karina died, but didn’t he have any memories of his own of her?

  He touched Danny’s hair and waited until his son looked up. “You know what I liked best about your mom?”

  Danny crinkled his nose and shook his head.

  “Her smile. When she smiled, it was almost like someone turned on a light bulb. That’s how much she lit up. And her smile always made me want to smile back, even if I’d been having a bad day.” He closed his eyes for a moment, seeking an image of Karina’s face in his memory. It came—fleetingly, but it came. He grinned down at Danny. “What did you like best about her?”

  “Um …” Danny played with the daisy petals again. Several dropped onto the grass. He flicked them with his finger, his head low. Then he looked upward again. “Didn’t she make paper airplanes and fly them with me? Didn’t you say she did that?”

  Sorrow pressed down on Paul. “Don’t you remember?”

  Danny made a face. “I’m not sure.” He pushed to his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets, staring at the headstone. He lowered his voice to a whisper as if afraid Karina would hear his confession. “I want to remember. But when I think about her it’s all kind of … fuzzy. I’m not sure if it’s real or not.” Tears swam in his eyes and he sniffed.

  Paul put his arm around Danny’s shoulders and pulled him close. “It’s all right, son.”

  “But she’s my mom. Shouldn’t I know
her?” He leaned his head against Paul’s rib cage. “It makes me feel bad.”

  It pained Paul that his son’s cheerful countenance had faded so quickly. He shouldn’t have asked about Danny’s memories. He leaned down stiffly and kissed the top of his head. “You don’t need to feel bad. Not too many people can remember things from when they were five years old. And whenever you have questions about her, you ask me, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, okay?”

  “Okay.” He didn’t sound cheered.

  Paul set him aside and cupped his chin, lifting his face. “Your mom loved you so much. Her biggest worry when she got sick was leaving you. She read Bible stories to you until you could recite them in your sleep—”

  Danny’s lips twitched into a grin.

  “—because she knew she was going to heaven, and she wanted to tell you as much as she could about Jesus before she had to go. And you know what? Before she died, you came into our room and told us you’d asked Jesus to take away your sins.”

  Danny’s face lit up just as much as Karina’s had. “She was there, too? I didn’t remember that!”

  “Yep. And she was the happiest I’d ever seen her. Because then she knew your place was secured in heaven and she would see you again someday.”

  Tears shone in Danny’s eyes even while he grinned. “And when I get there, I’ll find her and we’ll really get to know each other, right, Dad?”

  “Right.” Paul snagged Danny in a tight hug.

  Danny clung for several minutes, his face pressed firmly against Paul’s shirt front, then he pulled back and rubbed his nose with his fist. “I’m gonna go to the truck now.” He waved at the gray stone. “Bye, Mom. See ya later.” He bounded off.

  Paul watched him until he climbed into the truck’s cab, then he turned back to the grave. Danny had shed his despondence as easily as those daisies were shedding their petals. Maybe he should have gotten the roses, after all. “Karina, it was hard for you when I told you about my relationship with Suzy. It took some prayers, but you finally told me God had forgiven me and you shouldn’t hold me accountable for something that, in God’s eyes, hadn’t even happened. You showed me mercy and grace. I’ve been grateful for it. But what would you have said if you knew I’d fathered another child?”