The Mercy (18 page)

R
ose went around opening all the windows at home, coaxing in wafts of cool air. Everything seems the same, yet so very different. Her friend Nick had returned and she felt so ferhoodled. Hearing his voice inside the Petersheims’ house when she left the basket of sticky buns on their porch had made Rose’s stomach do flip-flops.

Is this just a visit, or has he come back to stay?

It was already quite warm indoors and she recalled how hot and muggy yesterday had been, without the benefit of a breeze. The smell of fresh dough lingered in the kitchen. She had brushed it lavishly with melted butter and given it a good sprinkling of brown sugar and cinnamon. She’d even added two-thirds of a cup of raisins to the mixture.
Barbara will love it . . . so will Nick.
She laughed a little, realizing his first taste of Amish baked goods upon his return might be of her very own!

She stared out at the sky—a brilliant blue with nary a cloud. Across the sweeping meadow, the ancient trees along the well-worn path swayed gently, their branches intertwined at the crowns. She spotted Aaron Petersheim hurrying along the dirt path toward his house, nearly running. What a true and loyal friend their former bishop had been to her father and vice versa—seeing each other through some difficult times. Aaron had been a good friend to Hen’s husband, as well, guiding him spiritually during his recovery. Her sister’s reunion with Brandon last winter had been such a blessing . . . and Mattie Sue also seemed happier than ever.
Wouldn’t Mattie be thrilled about Nick’s return if she knew?

Rose heard Mamm come from the sitting room, wheeling herself into the kitchen on her own, her upper body much stronger now. Her Bible lay open on her lap as she settled near the window, the sun spilling in all around her. “I like being near you, Rosie, while you cook and whatnot.”

The weeks away from home had made her mother more grateful for company. “I like havin’ you near, too, Mamm.”

Then, turning her attention to making the noon meal, Rose set about frying the thawed hamburger she’d set out on the counter. After just a few minutes, a new aroma began to fill the kitchen.

“The smell of hamburger cooking always brings back memories of you and Hen growin’ up, right here . . . at my feet.” Mamm smiled.

“Such a happy childhood you gave Hen and me, Mamma. Denki for that.”

“Well, that’s what mothers do, jah?”

Rose hoped to do the same for her own children in due time. And she was fairly sure Isaac was getting close to asking her to marry him. Of course, he’d have to join the Bart church pretty soon in order to do so this wedding season. And she’d have to transfer her membership to his church district, as well. “The dinner in a dish will be ready in short order,” she said.

“Sounds mighty
gut,
” Mamm replied, and Rose continued her cooking.

Meanwhile, her mother read aloud from the Psalms. Rose enjoyed hearing each uplifting phrase. “ ‘O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good: because his mercy endureth forever. . . .’ ”

God’s mercy.

She wondered how long Nick planned to stay around. Oh, she could hardly wait to talk to him, yet she wanted to be discreet about how she approached him. Or should she at all?

As her mother continued reading, Rose put the casserole in the oven and swept the kitchen floor. That done, she went out and checked on the first line of clothes, which were dry, so she brought in a big basketful.

Later, when the main dish had finished baking, she reached for the potholders to remove it from the belly of the cookstove. The bread crumbs were perfectly browned on top of the layers of lean ground beef, corn, onion, green peppers, and sliced tomatoes. “Here we are,” she said, carrying it over to let Mamm drink in the tantalizing scent. “Looks mighty nice, jah?”

“Smells
gut,
too.”

“I’ll say.”

“Your father will want his nice and hot,” Mamm instructed.

“I’ll ring the dinner bell, all right?” Rose went out and gave the rope a single swift pull. The bell rang loudly, echoing over the cornfields and beyond.

Upon Rose’s return to the kitchen, Mamm looked over at her, eyes so clear and sweet, free of pain. She had been through the fire and back and survived. The Lord had been her fortress through that difficult time, and she’d made sure to tell that to everyone who would listen at both the York hospital and the local osteopathic hospital. One of the Lancaster therapists also had a Plain upbringing, so she and Mamm had knit a special friendship. They still wrote letters every few weeks.

Rose set a pitcher of homemade root beer on the table, then glasses at each place setting. The hot dish would be cooled enough to move from the stove top to the table in short order. Oh, that first taste was always pure heaven!

“What’s keepin’ your father, I wonder?” Mamm said.

“I’ll just go out there and let him know we’re ready, jah?”

Mamm nodded, a smile on her face.

Dawdi and Mammi arrived just then and said they’d be glad to join in on the noon meal. “Oh jah, Rosie made plenty for everyone,” Mamm said as Rose headed outdoors to find Dat.

But her father wasn’t to be found in his usual place in the woodshop. And when Rose looked inside the barn, he wasn’t there, either. “Guess he’ll come in when he’s ready,” she decided, walking back to the house.

All of them went ahead without Dat, a rare thing for sure. A man of habits, failing to show up for dinner was certainly not one of them.

Afterward, Rose cleaned up the dishes and put away the leftovers, setting the casserole dish on the back of the stove for Dat. When the table was wiped and dried off, Rose sat and talked briefly with Mamm, who suggested they invite Barbara and her married daughters—Verna, Anna, and Susanna—to put up a nice big batch of beans—string, snap, and can them.

“We’ll have us a work frolic.”

“Jah, and I’ll get to see Anna’s new little one again,” Rose said, thinking of Anna’s April baby, named Barbianne after Barbara, who was very pleased about having a namesake.

Mamm loved the idea of seeing her friend’s new grandbaby, especially now that she was expecting another grandchild of her own. Hen and Brandon had been delighted to tell them of the baby due this fall, but no one seemed more excited about the news than the big-sister-to-be.

“I’d like to have Hen and Mattie Sue come, too,” Mamm added. “And Brandon, as well, if he can spare the time.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Rose said. “Hen says Brandon spends far fewer hours at the office now.”

Together, they settled on next Friday as the day for the frolic. Rose then suggested that Hen and Mattie Sue might also help her weed the vegetable garden out back. How she loved watching Mattie Sue talk to the worms she found in the rich soil, getting her fingernails dirty and pressing her little hands deep into the dirt.

Rose headed out to check on the next line of clothes while Mamm responded to her circle letters. Rose had wrapped her hair in a quick coil of a bun after dressing this morning, and already the loose strands were tickling her neck. Given that Nick was in the area, she wished she’d done a neater job. From a distance, he certainly had looked better-groomed than she’d ever seen him. And with that thought, she let go a soft laugh.

Glancing over at the woodworking shop, she wondered where Dat had gone. Something must’ve come up with one of her brothers, maybe—or a farming neighbor. She hadn’t looked for the family carriage or the market wagon, neither one.

Rose was so deep in thought, she was startled nearly out of her wits when Nick appeared from behind the potting shed.

“Ach!” She stepped back, her heart racing. “I didn’t see you there.” She scrutinized him.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, Rosie,” he said, still very worldly looking in his English clothes. The green of his short-sleeve shirt highlighted his strong, tanned arms. “It’s great to see you.”

She tried to say something nice in reply like “You too, Nick,” but the words were stuck.

He chuckled, his dark eyes shining. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

She eyed him curiously—his English haircut, his crisp, clean shirt and pressed trousers in light colors, no less. “No, but you certainly have!”

He smiled his old mischievous smile . . . the one he’d reserved only for her, out in the stable, or when they’d taken Pepper and George riding.
All those years.
“Want to take the horses for a run?” he said, as if sensing the direction of her musing.

Their eyes met and her heart skipped a beat. “Just like that, Nick? Do ya really think we can pick up where we left off?” Her head spun all of a sudden.

“Well, we have much to catch up on,” he replied. “It may be hard to believe, but I’ve come to set things right.”

She studied him, noted the way he formed his words. “You sound different. College must’ve done that to ya.”

“You heard about that?”

“Jah. Dat and the bishop went lookin’ for ya in Philly. Mrs. Schaeffer told them you were going to a community college somewhere nearby.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t for me.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant. “Then you’re done with higher education?”

“We should talk about that.” He stepped closer. “There’s so much I want to tell you, Rosie. So very much.”

She looked away, composing herself. It was much easier talking to him when his English getup wasn’t distracting her—like all the times she’d talked to the wind and pretended he was there listening. Like the night she’d taken Pepper out for a gallop, crying her eyes out . . . missing him.

“I’ve had my fill of the world, Rosie. I want you to hear this from me, so there’s no mistaking why I’ve come home.” He paused a moment. “That is, if my parents will have me.”

My parents . . .

“Your leaving has been so hard for them, considering everything,” she cautioned.

He nodded and she saw understanding in his eyes.

“I’m deeply sorry for all the pain I caused them.” His eyes searched hers. “And you, too, Rosie.”

He motioned for them to walk and she left the clothes on the line, falling into the rhythm of his step. Like old times, they walked toward the barnyard and out to the meadow, to the treed pathway.

“I read your letter,” he said.

She stopped walking. “Which one?”

“The one you left in the tin box last December.”

She could scarcely breathe. “
You
took it?” Her face burned with embarrassment at the words she’d written:
I love a man I can never marry. I miss you, Nick.

“Our secret mailbox . . . ain’t?” He smiled quickly.

She shook her head, refusing to look at him now. Not this handsome college upstart. Nick Franco, who had been, in many ways, with her in the stable every day since he left—every minute in the barn a reminder that they’d worked there together all those years. Then, just like that, he was gone from her. Out of reach . . . lost to the world.

And here he was, walking with her . . . back from the “edge,” as he’d called the boundary between the Plain and modern worlds.

They slowed their pace beneath the dappled sunlight in the leafy cove. “When I read what you wrote about the bishop . . . my father . . . I wanted to return immediately, like you suggested.” He shrugged. “But I just wasn’t ready.”

“What do ya mean?” she asked.

“I needed time.” He glanced at her. “Time to get my heart right with God. I realized He only seems to be silent.”

She looked up at him, surprised at his honesty, and attempted to erase the unfamiliar aspects of him—the way he expressed himself, the way he looked—and focus only on his face, his sincere eyes. “God is always there,” she said. “We learn that when we give up our will for His.”

“And that’s not easy.”

She agreed. “You throw everything on the mercy, on His purpose for your life. Trusting that He knows best is the hardest part of all.”

“I had to wrestle with so much, Rosie. . . .” He looked away, his words trailing off. “Years of self-pity . . . and living with a brother who made my life miserable at every turn.”

The allusion to Christian caused her to bow her head. Half afraid to hear what Nick might admit to next, Rose changed the subject.

“I can’t believe you read my letter.” She was still stunned at this.

“Well, you wrote it to
me.
” He smiled broadly. “And I must say it sounded convincing enough.”

“I wrote it during a very hard time, Nick.” She attempted to laugh it off. “Ach, I was prob’ly
ab im Kopp—
crazy in the head—that day.”

“Over half a year ago.” Nick glanced toward the tops of the trees. He was quiet for a moment, the call of birds the only sound. “Are you still seeing Silas Good?”

She shook her head.

The air seemed to go out of him.

“We parted ways a while back.” She sighed, not sure how much she wanted to share. “I released him from our engagement last Christmas.”

“You did?”

“He loved someone else more.” She paused to lean against a nearby tree.

Nick tilted his head and folded his hands, his fingernails trimmed and neat. “What else have I missed, Rosie?” He seemed to look right into her heart.