When Mercy Rains

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  To Paul’s delight, Alexa laughed and tweaked Danny’s nose. “You’re forgiven.” She tucked the container back on top of the refrigerator and lifted the notebook again, resting it in the crook of her arm. “Mr. Aldrich, when you take a break, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  Danny gulped, pawing at Paul’s arm. “She’s got an idea, Dad, and I inspired it.”

  “Actually, you both did,” Alexa said.

  Paul lifted his eyebrows, his interest piqued. “Oh?”

  Alexa nodded. “I’m not sure if it will work, so I don’t want to get everybody involved until I know. But I figured you would be the best one to ask. So when you have a minute …”

  Paul took a small nibble of the cookie. “I can’t work and eat at the same time. But I can eat and listen.” He bit off another tiny chunk. He intended to make this cookie last. “So go ahead.”

  She rocked slightly, the hem of her flowered skirt swaying above her bare toes. “I was thinking about fixing up the summer kitchen—turning it into a little guest cottage for Mom and me. Then Danny asked if he could visit it, too, which made me wonder …” She angled her head and her ponytail slipped along her shoulder in a sleek, dark wave. “Would this farmhouse make a good B and B?”

  “What’s a beanin’ B?” Danny asked. He’d finished his cookie, and crumbs ringed his mouth.

  “Danny, go wash your face and hands.” Paul waited until his son scooted around the corner before addressing Alexa. “You know, my wife once said something about this being a good spot for a bed-and-breakfast inn.” He’d forgotten about the conversation until Alexa’s question stirred the memory. Recalling Karina’s comments made him smile. “People who go to B and Bs generally want a peaceful getaway.”

  Alexa nodded. “Exactly. And what would be more peaceful than a farmhouse in a Mennonite community? Of course, if they want a little entertainment, bigger cities are a reasonable drive away. There’s parking space out by the barn, and you built ramps so it’s handicap accessible the way places are supposed to be these days, but the house itself … would it work? There are enough bedrooms, I think, but they’re all upstairs except for Grandmother’s, and there’s just that little powder room off the kitchen. So is there a way to add a tub or shower in there? And maybe a bedroom on the first floor? And how much would that cost? What about this kitchen—would it work for cooking for guests?”

  Paul started to laugh. He didn’t mean to, but her exuberance tickled him. “Slow down a minute. You’re having one of your gung-ho moments.” He liked that he already recognized when her excitement kicked into a gallop.

  Danny careened back into the room, and Paul handed him the uneaten portion of his cookie. “Here, you can have the rest of this. But eat it outside. Then play for a while. I’ll need your help later on.” Danny grabbed the cookie and slammed out the back door. Paul returned his attention to Alexa, who stood with her head slightly downcast and her lip caught between her teeth.

  She peeked at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So … am I getting gung-ho for no good reason?”

  He folded his arms over his chest before he snagged her in a fatherly hug. “I can’t speak to any rules or regulations the state might have about opening a B and B here, but I can say with pretty fair certainty the house could work. Even with just the one bathroom upstairs, it could work if the guests are all housed up there and they know ahead of time they’ll have to share.”

  Alexa listened intently, nodding slightly as he spoke.

  He hated himself for what he had to say next. But a father wouldn’t let his child walk into a land mine, and he wouldn’t let Alexa blithely make plans that would crumble beneath her feet. “But your grandmother is in a wheelchair. She needs to be cared for, not to be taking care of guests. How would she manage it?”

  “She wouldn’t. I would.”

  Paul jolted. “You?”

  In a heartbeat her enthusiasm returned. “Remember when you told me I should be a bakery? Well, not be a bakery, but run one. I love to cook, and I think I’m pretty good at it. And I’ve been praying about what I want to do for my job. My mom, being a nurse, ministers to people, and I admire that so much, and I wanted to do some kind of ministry, too. Wouldn’t running a bed-and-breakfast inn be a ministry? Helping people relax, fixing them good meals, serving them … Jesus served His disciples, right? So isn’t serving people a good thing?”

  Without conscious thought, Paul reached out and gave her a quick hug. He couldn’t pull her close with the bulky notebook between them, but it didn’t make the embrace any less heartfelt. When he stepped back, her cheeks wore pink stains and wonder glowed in her eyes.

  He spoke huskily. “Serving people is a very good thing, Alexa, and I’m proud of you for wanting to be a servant. So many young people today …” He couldn’t have raised her better himself. He swallowed and went on, forcing a light tone. “There would be hurdles to leap, of course, but your plan is doable. It’s a matter of your grandmother approving it.” His heart fell. Abigail Zimmerman wouldn’t welcome guests into her home. And Suzy surely wouldn’t want to let Alexa live so far away. The plan was doomed.

  Alexa inched toward the doorway leading to the dining room. “I’ll go talk to Mom and Grandmother. I …” She pulled in a breath and held it, as if battling with herself. Her air whooshed out as she said, “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Mr. Aldrich. Thank you.” She dashed off.

  He smiled, envisioning her expression as she’d shared her ideas. He couldn’t shake the feeling she intended to say something else before she left, but her sweet words of gratitude echoed through his mind.

  Lord, if this is Your will for Alexa, let it come to pass. Offering the prayer erased the edges of apprehension. As he returned to work, the prayer repeated itself in the back of his heart. But he wouldn’t allow himself to speculate on how wonderful it would be for him to have his daughter in the same community where he could see her every week.

  Suzanne

  “Why would anybody want to come to this run-down old house?” Suzanne cringed at Mother’s question. Alexa’s enthusiasm melted as quickly as snowflakes landing on a child’s warm tongue. “Mother …” She injected gentle reproach in her tone.

  Mother shifted in her lounger to scowl at Suzanne. “It’s an honest question.” Her expression softened when she turned to Alexa, who sat on the porch stairs and rested her chin in her hand, the picture of despondence. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But, Alexa, think. People would turn in at the lane, take one look at the place, and turn around and leave. They wouldn’t want to come inside.”

  Did Mother’s voice hold a bit of embarrassment? Maybe regret for having let the house go? Suzanne hoped she interpreted correctly, because then maybe Mother wouldn’t be upset when the fellowship men converged to give the house a face-lift.

  Alexa cupped her hands over her knees. “We’d have to do some fixing up. I already thought of that.”

  Mother released a little snort.

  Alexa flicked a glance at Suzanne before continuing. “But isn’t it peaceful out here on the porch, Grandmother? There’s always a nice breeze.”

  “Yes, Kansas is generally windy.”

  “If it’s too windy, your front room is big enough for guests to sit and visit with each other or read a book.”

  “On my old furniture? They’d probably turn up their noses at my sofa.”

  “And the dining room! The table is perfect for everyone to sit around and start their day with a good breakfast and conversation.”

  “I’ll grant you, the table can seat a small army, but it’s right off my bedroom. I wouldn’t want to listen to a bunch of strangers jabbering right outside my door.”

  Suzanne intervened before Mother could turn another of Alexa’s positives into a negative. “I think what Mother is trying to say in her rather indelicate way”—Mother shot her a glare, which she ignored—“is running a B and B would be too much for her.”

  “Well …�
�� Alexa scrunched her face into a grimace. “I wasn’t actually thinking of Grandmother running it.” She looked into Suzanne’s eyes, her expression pleading. “I want to do it myself.”

  “What?” Mother exploded with the short query Suzanne held back.

  Alexa launched into an explanation of using the bed-and-breakfast as a means of ministering to those who needed a place of rest and rejuvenation. Her gaze zipped between her mother and grandmother, her hands gesturing with excited little chops of emphasis. Suzanne listened, stunned, uncertain how a two-month hiatus had become a possible full-time change for her daughter.

  “Mr. Aldrich says it’s possible, that the house would accommodate guests,” Alexa went on. “He doesn’t know about regulations concerning B and B businesses, but—”

  Suzanne nearly came out of her chair. She forced herself to remain seated on its edge. “You talked to Paul about this?”

  Alexa nodded.

  “Before you talked to me?” The anger—and fear—coursing through her middle shocked her even more than Alexa’s announcement about running a bed-and-breakfast inn.

  Mother patted her on the wrist. “Settle down, Suzanne.”

  Suzanne jerked away from the placating touch. “Why would you talk to him? He has no bearing on what you do.”

  Alexa stared at her as if she’d never seen her before. “Mom, he’s a builder. He knows about these things.”

  Suzanne glared into her daughter’s face for a few more seconds. With Mother sitting there, she couldn’t say what she wanted to, but the words roared through her mind. Don’t you turn to that man as if he has all the answers. Getting a woman pregnant does not a father make, and you are not his—you are mine! “You should have come to your grandmother and me first. After all, this affects us more than it affects Paul Aldrich.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Alexa blinked rapidly. “I just thought it was better to find out if the house could even be a B and B before I talked to you about it. I wasn’t trying to leave you out.”

  Her daughter’s respectful explanation did nothing to alleviate Suzanne’s anger. “Well, you can just forget the idea. It would be too much work, and your grandmother isn’t up to having strangers coming and going out here. You have a job and a church and friends and … and …” She avoided adding me, recognizing even in her anger how self-centered she would sound. “A life in Indiana. So just put your grand scheme out of your head right now.”

  Alexa smacked her notebook closed, yanked it against her chest, and clomped down the steps.

  Suzanne curled her hands around the chair’s plastic armrests to hold herself in place. “Where are you going?” She better not be going to talk to Paul again.

  Alexa shook her head, her ponytail bobbing. “Back to the summer kitchen, Mom. I want to do some thinking. And some praying.”

  Some praying … Alexa’s simple comment speared Suzanne’s heart. She should have prayed before spouting off at her daughter. She’d treated Alexa like a rebellious ’tween rather than the mature young woman she was, and all because of her own insecurities.

  She eased back into the chair, forcing herself to take deep, slow breaths. Her gaze drifted across the delicate fretwork decorating the porch, then to the yard with its expanse of green grass and gardens of zinnias, snapdragons, bachelor’s-buttons, and roses. Mother had never wanted fussy gardens, but Dad wanted color, so he’d planted flowers that would reseed themselves and come back year after year. She understood why Alexa could envision the farmhouse as a B and B. But to stay here and run it? Her imagination was carrying her to places she shouldn’t go.

  “What are you thinking?” Mother intruded upon Suzanne’s thoughts.

  Suzanne snorted. “I don’t think you want to know.”

  Mother chuckled softly. “I bet I already know.”

  Suzanne didn’t want to find out. She stood. “It’s nearly lunchtime. I’ll go fix some sandwiches. Do you want me to take you inside, or would you rather stay out here?”

  Mother caught hold of Suzanne’s wrist and squeezed. Her leathery palm was warm and dry, her touch assuring, but Suzanne found no comfort in it. Mother said, “She went to him because she wants to know her father.”

  “Well, she can’t.” Suzanne snapped the words, intentionally harsh. “In or out, Mother?”

  Mother sighed. “I’ll stay here.”

  Suzanne slammed herself in the house and marched toward the kitchen. But not to make sandwiches. The sandwiches could wait. She and Paul Aldrich needed to get a few things settled.

  Paul

  Paul lay on his back with his head inside the cupboard. The awkward position put pressure on his lower spine, and his back throbbed like a bad tooth, but he couldn’t access the drainpipes any other way. He’d just need to hurry. “Hand me the wrench, Danny.”

  The tool slapped into his palm, and he tightened the jam nut against the gasket. Tight enough to hold, not too tight to crimp the gasket. He didn’t want any water leaking and ruining the inside of the cabinetry.

  “What else do you need, Dad?”

  Paul smiled. Danny was always so eager to help. He shifted his attention to the coupling nuts. “Nothing yet. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for something else.”

  “Okay.”

  He finished with the wrench and thrust it out. “Flashlight and rag now.”

  Danny didn’t take the wrench. “Dad?”

  He raised his voice a bit. “I said flashlight and rag, Danny.”

  “I heard you. But …” Danny patted his knee. “Can you come out?”

  He didn’t want to come out until he’d finished. But his son’s insistent whisper changed his mind. Paul lay the wrench on the floor and wriggled his way downward until he could sit up without clunking his head. As soon as he cleared the cabinet, he understood why Danny had wanted him. Suzy stood near his feet, and her expression warned of a brewing storm. He set his lips in a grim line. She could thunder all she wanted to. He had a few lightning bolts ready to fling in return.

  Paul managed to sit up. It took some doing. His back still didn’t want to cooperate very well. “Danny, would you run out to the pickup and get our lunchboxes? I think I’d like to eat under the cottonwoods in the back. I’ll meet you there.”

  Danny sidled toward the porch, his wary gaze fixed on Suzy. “Sure.” He scampered out.

  Paul hooked the little kitchen footstool with his foot and slid it across the floor toward Suzy. She sat stiffly on the stool. Its short height brought her down so her face was only a few inches above his. He closed the cabinet door and leaned against it, bending one knee and bracing his hand on it. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Alexa.”

  Interesting. She’d been on his mind a lot lately, too. “What about her?”

  “I want you to leave her alone.”

  Paul squinted at her. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Stay away from her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even look at her.”

  She had a lot of nerve—he’d give her that. If his back wasn’t still giving him fits, he would leap to his feet, yank her up, and shake her until her teeth rattled. “You mean like I’ve had to do for the past nineteen years?” To his satisfaction, her stiff pose melted a bit. “I know, Suzy. I know how you went off and had our baby girl all by yourself.”

  Fury roared through his gut. He’d never experienced such a fierce desire to inflict bodily harm on another human being, and the feeling scared him. He grated out, “How could you have kept something like that from me?”

  Her face paled. She gripped her hands tightly over her knees and clung as if in need of a lifeline. “I was wrong to keep my pregnancy from you. I was so young, so scared, and my mother was so forceful … But that isn’t an excuse.”

  “You’re right.” Paul growled the statement. “I spent years feeling guilty, believing I shamed you so badly you had to go away. But my wrong is nothing compared to yours. You should have come to me.”

  She jerked her chin upward, and stee
ly determination entered her expression again. “And what would you have done if I’d come to you instead of going to Mother, Paul? What?”

  “I would have married you. We could have raised her together.”

  She laughed. Actually laughed! He balled his hands into fists and willed himself to stay seated. She shook her head. “A have-to marriage? In this community? We would have lived with the stigma of our youthful indiscretion our entire lives. And our daughter would have grown up under a cloud of recrimination.”

  She was right, and he hated that she was right. Gripping the cabinet, he pulled himself to his feet. She rose at the same time, her movements much more graceful than his clumsy stumbling. He glowered at her. “Then I could have gone with you. I could have … have …” He didn’t know what he could have done. He pointed at her, his finger trembling with the force of his anger. “You took my daughter away from me!”

  “I know.” She hung her head, her entire body seeming to shrink. “You’ll never know how sorry I am.”

  A tear trailed down her cheek, but it didn’t move him. He wouldn’t feel sorry for her. Not after what she’d done, what she’d stolen from him. “You should be sorry.”

  She looked at him again through watery eyes. Defiance glinted in her narrowed gaze. “I lost something precious, too, Paul. And now all I have is Alexa. So I’m telling you …” She swiped her hands across her eyes, removing the shimmer of moisture, but the belligerence remained. “Leave her alone. She isn’t yours, she’s mine.” She jabbed one finger against his chest. “Leave … her … alone.”

  Alexa

  Setting aside her ideas about operating a bed-and-breakfast inn in her family’s century-old farmhouse in the heart of Amish-Mennonite country didn’t come easily, but after much prayer and thought, she chose to honor her mother. Grandmother’s reticence hadn’t surprised her—Grandmother was, by nature, a negative person. But Mom’s reaction … That had surprised her good. Mom, who rarely got angry and had always been supportive, hadn’t acted like herself at all.