The Mercy (13 page)

Her face lit right up. “Brandon can see? Oh, thank the dear Lord!”

Sol only smiled, not sharing about their son-in-law’s departure, or that it appeared he and Hen were right back to where they’d started last fall. No need to burden Emma with all that today.

Rose Ann had seen Brandon outdoors earlier, wearing his tan overcoat—one sleeve hanging limp—and dress shoes when Bruce parked in front of Hen’s Dawdi Haus. Brandon had walked right to the car, placing his duffel bag in the backseat just as any sighted person would, to the obvious amazement of his partner, who’d gotten out to assist him only to discover that Brandon needed no help.

Guess he doesn’t need Hen’s help any longer, either,
Rose thought sadly as she pitched hay to the field mules with Mose and Josh, working in Dat’s stead. All the while she breathed a prayer for Hen and Brandon . . . and for Mamm.

Rose had just returned to the house when she spotted Barbara Petersheim through the window, arriving by horse and carriage. Feeling mighty blue, she removed her work boots and welcomed her mother’s friend with open arms and gratefully accepted the chicken casserole and a side dish of succotash. Aunt Malinda Blank, Mamm’s older Maidel sister, had also stopped by with a pot of chili right after Dat left with the van driver, so they were well fixed for supper.

“Denki!” Rose kissed Barbara’s cheek and put the casserole on top of the cookstove, covering it with dish towels.

“It oughta stay
gut
and hot right there, ready to eat.” Barbara’s cheeks were redder than Rose had seen them.

“Mighty cold out, ain’t?”

Barbara patted her plump hands together as she moved closer to the stove. “I’ll say.”

Rose invited her to sit and warm herself. “I should’ve gone to see Mamm today,” Rose said, her voice husky. “I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings yesterday.”

“Well, how’s that?”

“Because I didn’t go in to see her after she was out of recovery. Oh, Barbara, I just couldn’t!”

Barbara reached for her. “Dear girl, listen to me. Your Mamma surely understands; I just know she does.” Barbara stroked her hair like Mamm had when Rose was a little girl. “We must give your mother into the Lord’s care. Can ya do that, Rosie?”

Rose nodded, but she missed Mamm something awful and told Barbara so. “It’s goin’ to be weeks till she’s home again.”

“Well, sure. But think how wonderful it’ll be for her to live without pain . . . if the Lord God wills it.”

“Oh, I pray it’s so.”

“Your Dat’s with her today, I s’pose.”

Rose said he was. “Hen wanted to go, but she’s stayin’ with Mattie Sue.” She didn’t say Hen’s husband apparently had returned to the world. Barbara would find out soon enough about Brandon’s leaving.

“You’ll visit once she’s out of the ICU, jah?” Barbara asked.

“I surely will.”

Barbara rose out of the rocker with considerable effort. “Do you need any other help today, Rose Ann? Cleaning or whatnot?” Barbara looked her over, then her gaze drifted to the work boots in the utility room. “You’re helpin’ out in the barn, I ’spect?”

“Jah, till I got so cold I thought I might just turn purple.” Rose laughed softly. “Good thing Dat’s not here to see, ’cause he’d tease me for sure.”

“Let your brothers do the outdoor work.” Barbara patted Rose’s cheek. “You take care of yourself, hear?”

“I’m tryin’.”

“Well, if you’re sure you’ll be all right, I’ll head over to Gilbert Browning’s with food for the men building the addition.”

“No need to fret over me,” Rose said, following her to the back door. The cold seeped in through the cracks. “I hope you have your lap robes for the carriage.”

“Jah, ain’t but a short ride though.”

Rose watched till Barbara was safely inside the carriage. Shivering again, she closed the door, hoping her brothers wouldn’t think she was avoiding her barn chores. The minute she got herself warmed all through, she would go back out and finish up. Then later, Rose would check on Hen to see how she was faring, pained as she surely must be. Rose determined to do her best to console her sister. What else could she do?

B
y Saturday afternoon, Hen felt practically sick with grief. Mattie Sue had sobbed when Brandon hadn’t returned last night for supper. Hen had held her darling close, letting her cry as Wiggles tilted his furry head, observing them, his tail as still as a twig.

Hen had tried to conceal her emotions from Mattie Sue thus far. She was thankful for Rose’s help and listening ear. Such a precious sister! Hen hoped she hadn’t put a damper on her sister’s joy—later today was to be the first real date between Rose and her prospective beau.

Presently, Hen kept busy mending socks for her father. As she worked, she thought of her mother. Hen and her father had talked at length that morning before he left for York. He seemed to have high hopes for getting Mamm into a rehabilitation facility in Lancaster and was working toward that end—much more convenient for the family, too. Hen longed to see her mother again, not for her own consolation, but to offer comfort.

It is in giving that we receive.
She thought of the prayer she’d found tucked into her mother’s Bible years ago.

Hen’s mind turned back to Brandon.
If only I’d given more.
It seemed like days since Brandon left, but alas, only yesterday he’d packed his things and left his short note. She’d never known such misery . . . such painful uncertainty. It was all she could do just to go through the motions of a normal day.

With both Brandon and Mom gone, the world was strangely empty. Hen stared out the kitchen window at the drive, hoping to see Brandon pulling up to the house.

He’d felt trapped in his blindness, he had told her.

“Well, he’s free of that now,” she said. The realization made her both happy for him and sad for herself.

Despite Mamm’s hospitalization and Brandon’s leaving, Rose could not quell her excitement for the upcoming evening as she dressed for her date with Isaac. She looked forward to seeing him again and refused to let herself feel guilty about it.

She checked in her hand mirror to see if her part was nice and straight and the rest of her looked presentable. She wondered if she should call Isaac by his nickname or his given name. She said “Ike” softly, trying it out, though there was something equally appealing about the name Isaac. Of course, she didn’t have to decide right at first. She would let the evening play out. After all, tonight was the result of a blind date of sorts, so she shouldn’t hope for too much, even though she had enjoyed his company last Sunday.

Going downstairs, it was easy to slip out of the house unnoticed, since Dat was still in York with Mamm, and Hen and Mattie Sue were over in their little house. She’d gone to see Hen again earlier this afternoon, taking some mending along. Rose had tried to steer the conversation away from Brandon as they worked while Mattie napped. Hen, however, kept bringing the conversation back to her husband.
“He wants his modern life, and there’s no changing that.”

“You of all people should be able to sympathize,”
Rose had said.

Hen stared back at her as if she’d said something wrong, and Rose had felt she best be going. She’d left the basket of worn socks there, mighty perplexed as she walked back to the main house. Was her sister really so unable to see past her own nose?

Now Rose was glad she’d worn her boots and mittens and warmest woolen coat and scarf as she made her way up Salem Road to where Isaac had said he’d meet her at dusk. It was certainly about that time, and she wished she’d brought along a flashlight.

Within seconds a horse came trotting toward her—she heard the clip-clopping better than she could see the horse. But she knew without a doubt it was Isaac as he called “Whoa, boy!” His voice was firm and confident as he gave the command.

Like Dat’s.
She smiled to herself.

The night was very cold. But as long as the wind didn’t come up, they’d be all right for a little while. She did feel sorry for Isaac, who would have to drive a full forty minutes or so back to his home in Bart in his open buggy.
He’ll be an ice cube, for sure.

Isaac held a flashlight, guiding her way toward him. As she stepped into the brilliant circle of light on the ground, he said, “Hullo, Rose. Nice to see ya again.”

“You too, Isaac.”

He helped her into the carriage. “It’s a nice night, jah?”

She agreed.

“Good thing it’s not too cold yet.”

She nodded, wondering if his face and ears might already be too numb for him to know just how cold it really was. “It’s s’posed to be cloudy tonight, so that’s
gut.
”

“Jah, my
Daed
always says it’s colder when it’s clear out.”

“My Dawdi Jeremiah likes to say the clouds make blankets over the earth.”

“Well, he’s right.”

They went on like this for a bit, talking about the weather and this and that, just the way she liked it.
Getting acquainted nice and slow-like.

“Do ya play much Ping-Pong?” he asked.

“No, but I think it’s fun. Do you?”

“Several times a week . . . at my employer’s house. They’ve got a big room in the basement with a Ping-Pong table.”

“This is the English farmer you work for?”

“Best thing I ever did, getting hired on by Ed Morton.”

Rose was a little surprised at that.

“I was unbeatable at the game last year,” he said. “Not to boast.”

She chuckled. “You’re mighty sure of yourself, ain’t?”

“Maybe so—if you’re talking Ping-Pong. Jake recently stole the championship from me.”

“And you want it back.”

“I’m workin’ on it!” He laughed, obviously enjoying himself.

After a time, he asked if she’d ever heard of the groundhog that went to a garage sale, a story he’d heard from a cousin in Missouri. “This here chubby critter got into a bag of clothing set aside for a yard sale,” he told her. “Somehow or other it managed to get from the bag into a hole in the garage.”

Rose listened, picturing the dilemma.

“Seems the family heard a lot of racket beneath the floor—the frightened critter dug himself clear into the kitchen of the old farmhouse. When one of the preachers came over, he found the hole in the garage where the animal had slipped in, and guess what he did?”

“What?”

“Stuck a hose in there and flushed him right out!”

“Poor thing must have been terrified,” Rose said, adding, “Sounds like something one of my brothers might do.”

“Mose, maybe?”

“Well, not so much him, but maybe one of the others.”

“Mose must be one nice brother.”

“He’s also a wonderful-
gut
father . . . and husband.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought Isaac winked at her just then.

He talked of his many Amish and English friends over in Bart. She kept waiting for him to mention his twin brother, Jacob, but he didn’t.

Soon, he was telling about some New Order Amish teenagers in Ohio who weren’t allowed to date or court till
after
church baptism. “Never heard of that before,” she said.

“It’s one way to get you in the church before ya realize what you’re doin’, seems to me.”

She was surprised he’d say that. “I don’t know. Might be a
gut
idea for some.”

He turned toward her. “Are ya baptized already, Rose?”

“Joined church when I was fifteen.”

“Really, now? I don’t know too many who join so early.”

She explained it was partly because of her mother’s ill health. “Mamm was afraid she might not live long enough to witness my vow to God.” She waited, wondering if he might point out that it certainly wasn’t the best reason for entering into the holy ordinance. But when he said no more on the subject, she had to ask. “Are you baptized, Isaac?”

“Not just yet.”

She wondered why not but didn’t know him well enough to inquire. “My father always says it’s important to be ready first. ’Tis a mighty big step.”

He agreed. “Ain’t something to enter into lightly.”

She didn’t reply to that, still curious about why he hadn’t followed the Lord in holy baptism yet.

“I’ll make my vow sooner or later.”

She nodded, relieved. Plenty of young men put off baptism for as long as they could.

“Who’s your bishop?” she asked, wondering if it was the one appointed to them temporarily for the next six months.

When he named Bishop Simon, she realized it was indeed one and the same. “So he oversees our church and two other districts, jah?”

“He’s a busy man—a stickler like Old Ezekiel. Everyone knows that about him.” Isaac kept his hands on the reins, never once making Rose think he might reach for hers. “Three churches to tend to is more than a full-time job.” He asked what had happened to their former bishop. “Is he ill?”

“No.” Rose realized then that because Isaac wasn’t a church member, he was not privy to what had happened to cause Aaron Petersheim’s ousting. It wasn’t her place to bring it up. She changed the subject, thinking about the stories he’d told earlier. “You must have relatives in Ohio and Missouri.”

“My mom has Plain friends from there. They write circle letters every other week,” he explained.

“I thought maybe you had cousins out there, too.”

“Not that I know of, but they do seem to turn up where you least expect—lots of my relatives will even hire drivers and come in from out of state to attend husking bees and whatnot.”

She’d heard the same thing from her cousin Esther Glick, who’d married on Thanksgiving Day. “When was your last husking bee?”

“Oh, maybe a year or so ago.”

“Did ya have apple pie after the big meal?”

He nodded. “That and German chocolate sauerkraut cake—my favorite dessert. But the best part was the line dancing, with a fiddle, guitars, even a mandolin or two.”

Rose’s eyes grew wide. “Goodness’ sake, we don’t have gatherings like that round here.”

“The big ol’ bass fiddle is the most fun.”

“And there’s dancin’, ya say?”

“Well, amongst some of the buddy groups, jah. But the gatherings are mostly for pairin’ up.”

Rose supposed that if she asked around, she could probably find out where there were various progressive groups doing such dancing in her own area, too. She’d just never considered that particular crowd.

Isaac talked about the music and the hilarity at these gatherings, and his description of the sights and sounds drew her like a magnet as she visualized every word . . . every phrase. She was so entertained, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else under the blanketed cloud cover overhead—not on this very happy night.

Breathing in the brisk air, she leaned back in the seat as she listened to Isaac talk about “practice Singings,” which certain Amish-Mennonite young folk attended on Wednesday nights. “A minister accompanies them while they sing together in unison. Sometimes they sneak in a harmony line.”

“Two or more parts?” she asked.

He nodded, grinning.

“And where’s this you’re talkin’ about?”

“Sugarcreek, Ohio. Some of the Plain women there wear pastel-colored dresses and the men own and drive cars.”

She didn’t know why Isaac was talking so much about other states and church districts, but because he hadn’t settled down yet and joined his own church, he was entitled to “talk out” his own answers, like Dat used to tell Rose’s older brothers to do before they bowed their knees to the church and to almighty God.

The evening sped by, and after a few hours, Isaac brought her back to Salem Road and parked at the end of Dat’s driveway. Rose’s cheeks were so cold she could hardly move her lips to say good-bye.

He politely helped her down and walked her nearly to the back door. “I hope you didn’t get too chilled.”

She smiled. “Oh, I’ll get warmed up soon enough.”

“Well, you take
gut
care, Rose. Hope ya had a nice time.”

“I did. Denki.”

She didn’t turn to watch him run helter-skelter back to his carriage, but she heard his boots crunching against the ground as she slipped quietly into the warm kitchen. She stood beside the cookstove so she could get thawed out right quick. And it was then Rose realized Dat had stoked the fire just for her, guessing she was out this frosty night.