by Diana Palmer
“Nope, but our milk comes from cows.”
Mercedes’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t drink from a cow!”
Fern chuckled. “No, but the cow gets milked by the farmer, and then the milk gets sent to the grocery store, and then we buy it and drink it.” She hesitated. “When you were a baby, you drank from your mama just like that little puppy.” She didn’t want to upset Mercedes, but the social worker had told her it was good to refer to her biological mother naturally, in conversation. That way, Mercedes would know that her mother and her experiences with her mother weren’t a taboo subject.
“I drank from my mommy?” Mercedes asked wonderingly.
“Yes, your mommy told me she breast-fed you for a whole year. She loved you so much.”
“Yeah.” Mercedes looked thoughtful for a minute. “Hey, the puppy is biting the mommy!”
Fern was watching, too. The puppy was obviously getting some sustenance, but even to her inexperienced eye, it looked like a struggle. “Tell you what, let’s get Brownie that food. Maybe she needs more to eat before she can feed her pup.” She sincerely hoped Brownie could feed the pup entirely, both because it was better for the little guy, and because she didn’t know exactly how they’d manage the frequent feedings a little puppy would need.
“What will she eat?”
“I guess she’ll eat Bull’s food.” Suddenly, Fern realized she hadn’t seen the old bulldog. “Where is Bull anyway?”
“Mr. Carlo took him in the den. He said it was better if they didn’t meet yet, because they might fight.”
“Okay.” She had to appreciate Carlo’s practical help. The man was just...capable, and it was a relief to have him here even though he made her uncomfortable.
After Brownie had eaten and settled down with a big doggy sigh, her pup beside her, Fern and Mercedes played board games in front of the fire. Mercedes had a snack and took a short nap, and Fern seized the opportunity to work a little on her picture book.
When Mercedes got up, she distracted her with half an hour of television so she could work a little more and finish her ideas. A small flash of guilt about that, but after all, it was a snow day and half an hour of TV wasn’t too bad. Mercedes normally went to day care while Fern worked, and she was used to structure and varied activities in her day.
What else was she going to do with little Mercy? She put her paints away and then wandered into the kitchen. Outside the windows, the sun peeked through clouds on its way to a beautiful sunset, all pink and peachy and orange and purple. Snow was heaped high against the fence line and the barn. Trees raised spidery arms into the sky, and the beauty was breathtaking. Yes, she had to do a winter story soon just so she could capture some of this in her art.
She daydreamed of Ezra Scott Keats and The Snowy Day. They didn’t own the picture book, but she’d checked it out several times from the library. She looked through Angelica’s various shelves of picture books and found that one, along with several others related to snow.
She and Mercedes lay down by the fire for a little while, reading, but it was clearly not active enough for the little girl and she got fidgety. So Fern pulled out her big guns. “Want to bake cookies?”
“Yeah!” Mercedes’s eyes glowed. “Can we really?”
“Sure. Let’s go find all the ingredients. I’m sure Angelica has everything basic.” It was true; as the mother of a first-grader, Angelica kept her kitchen well stocked in chocolate chips.
As they mixed together the dough, as she showed Mercedes what to do and let her help, Fern flashed back to one memorable day in her favorite foster home, where Granny Jentis had let two of the girls help her bake cookies. It had been just such a snowy day. They’d baked batch after batch of sugar cookies and Fern remembered the thrill of licking the spoon and of watching the sticky dough turn into delicious warm cookies.
If she had her way, Mercedes would have many, many days like that: homey, family days.
Sudden fear flashed through her. What if things didn’t work out? What if something happened in the adoption process and Mercedes couldn’t stay?
She drew in a deep breath. Glanced over reflexively at the verse Angelica had hung on the kitchen wall: “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear.”
Angelica was a good Christian. The whole family was. And the thought of enough love to rid yourself of fear was amazing.
Fern didn’t have that. She wished she did, and she knew from church that many believers had such faith that fear was gone or greatly diminished. That would be wonderful. Now, with so much more than she’d ever had to lose, Fern wished fervently that she had that safe, loving, loved feeling.
She didn’t. And with her background, she didn’t know if she ever would.
But she loved Mercedes with all her heart, and all she could do was to focus on that love.
They were pulling the first batch of cookies out of the oven when Carlo came in, rubbing his stubbly face. In his faded jeans and loose sweater, sleeves pushed up to reveal brawny forearms, he looked impossibly handsome, and Fern’s heart rate shot up just looking at him.
Which was weird, because she never went mushy and boy-crazy like other women.
“Smells great in here,” he said, sounding calmer and more cheerful than before. “What’s going on?”
“We baked cookies!” Mercedes shouted, her voice joyous. “I never did it before, and Mama Fern says I’m really good at it.”
“Hmm.” Carlo bent over the cookie tray Fern was holding, pretending to sniff the cookies. His nearness just about took Fern’s breath away, weirdly enough. “I’m not sure. Would you like me to be a cookie tester for you?”
Fern whirled away and set the cookies down on a pot holder on the counter. “He’s trying to fool us, Mercy. He wants the first taste of a cookie, but you’re the one who gets that.”
Mercedes studied him carefully. “He can try it,” she said finally. “I like him.”
Carlo took a hot cookie, bit into it and licked the crumb off his lip. His eyes sparkled at Fern. “Hmm,” he said. “That was...” He knelt in front of Mercedes. “The very best cookie I ever tasted!”
“I know, and this is the very best day I ever had!” Mercedes’s eyes widened then. “Except I wish Mommy was here.”
Fern squatted down and hugged the little girl. “Your mama would be so proud of you for all your hard work today,” she said.
There was a yip from the corner, sounding as if one of the dogs was barking approval, and Carlo looked over. “How are they doing?”
When they all went over to check, the puppy was nursing contentedly while the older dog lay on her side.
“Mama Fern, she’s smiling!” Mercedes cried.
“It looks that way. I think she’s happy to be with her pup.”
Indignant yowling came from the room where Carlo had been sleeping. “Sounds like old Bull isn’t happy to be left out,” Carlo said.
“Do you think we should put them together?”
“Not yet, but maybe later tonight. Bull seems like a nice guy, but this is his territory and—”
A loud pop interrupted him.
All the lights went out.
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHOA!” CARLO TENSED instantly and reached for the spot where he’d last seen Mercedes, but his hand brushed Fern’s hip instead and he jerked it back.
“Mama!” Mercedes cried, and he sensed rather than saw Fern kneeling beside her.
“Shh, sweets, it’s okay. Mama Fern’s here.” She directed her voice toward him. “What happened?”
“Must be from the storm.” He had pretty good night vision and spatial memory, so he made his way across the room and opened the window shades.
Sunset had turned the sky purple and orange and pink, but he couldn’t see any electrical lights outside, not even way in the distance where another farm was us
ually visible. The outage must be widespread.
Behind him, Mercedes’s scared sniffling turned into a wail.
“I’m right here, Mercy.” Fern’s voice was calm, even upbeat. “Looks as if we’re going to have a little adventure.”
“I don’t like dark,” the child cried.
Carlo fumbled in his pocket for the flashlight that was always on his key chain. In a minute, its feeble beam was joined by a stronger one from Fern’s phone. “There we go,” he said. “Light and an adventure.”
As had become automatic in his missionary work, he sent up a quick prayer. Unexpected stuff here, Lord, but not to You. Help us.
“Wonder where Troy and Angelica keep the candles,” Fern mused. She’d stood and was cuddling Mercedes on her hip.
“No dark,” the little girl sobbed.
“Shh, it’s going to be okay. We’ll have fun.”
“No, ’cause lights cost money. And we can’t get them back for a long time.”
Her words smote Carlo. Kath and Mercedes must have gone without electricity. Without intending to, he’d neglected his own child to the point where she’d lacked the physical necessities of life.
He’d lived up to every bad expectation he’d heard growing up. That Camden boy. Always in trouble. Won’t amount to anything.
Fern’s voice, sweet and calm, brought him back to the present. “Oh, no, Mercy, the reason the power went out is the storm. No big deal. The lights will come back on as soon as the workers can fix the electrical lines.”
Mercedes lifted her head. “Can we still make the cookies?” she asked plaintively.
“Um...no. The oven won’t work without power.”
“But I want to bake the cookies!”
“Shh!” Fern sounded frustrated and a little scared. “We’ve got a lot to think about.”
Hearing the anxiety in Fern’s voice made Carlo’s training snap into place. Take charge. “First thing, we’re all okay.” He injected total confidence into the words as he put a hand on Fern’s shoulder and a hand on Mercedes’s. “That’s most important. Next issue is the dogs. How are our guys in here?”
As he’d hoped, the thought of the dogs stopped Mercedes’s crying, which had to take a load of stress off Fern.
He was rewarded by her grateful smile. “Can you help me check them out, Mercy?” she asked, and they all walked over to examine the mama and puppy.
True to canine form, the two appeared to be completely relaxed. But when Carlo shone his light on the pup, he noticed that its sores looked raw. “Did your friends say what to do about these?”
“They said they’d heal unless the pup or mama get obsessive about licking them.”
Just then, Brownie lifted her head and started licking her puppy’s back.
“Hmm.” To Carlo, the wounds looked worse, and then a memory came back to him. “I have an idea about how to stop her from licking. Mind if I try?”
Even in the dim light he could see Fern’s concerned frown. “How much do you know about dogs?”
Good for her. The dogs were her responsibility and she couldn’t let just anyone take charge of them. He lifted his hands. “Believe me, I’m no veterinarian. But I did spend a week on a farm one time and something similar was going on with a mama cow and a calf.”
“And you fixed it?”
“No, I watched a very experienced farmer fix it, and it worked.”
She scratched behind the mama dog’s ears and looked up at him. “In Central America? And if it was a farm, must’ve been during the missionary years?”
He stared at her. “You really pay attention.”
“That’s the benefit of us quiet types.” Her slow smile made his heart skip a beat.
They were all kneeling around the sleepy pair of dogs. Carlo could see the furniture as dark shapes, and outside the window, the moon was just starting to rise. When he leaned away from the dogs and toward Fern, he noticed her light floral perfume.
“As long as it doesn’t hurt the dogs.” She bit her lip, her face suddenly scrunched with worry, and he couldn’t help it—he reached out a hand and smoothed the lines from her forehead.
Which made her go very, very still.
“Hey,” he said to calm the fear in those huge eyes. And to calm his own suddenly racing heart. “I want the dogs to stay safe, too. I don’t want to hurt them, okay? You can trust me.”
Even as he said it, his stomach turned over. Because yeah, she could trust him about the dogs, but what about her and Mercedes? Wasn’t he keeping the biggest secret of all from them?
She blinked behind those glasses, smiled and nodded. “Okay, farmer Carlo. Do your stuff.”
Man, was she cute when she tried to be funny. Apparently, Mercedes thought so, too, because she chortled with laughter. “He’s not a farmer, Mama Fern! He’s a soldier!”
Carlo was standing up to get what he needed from the kitchen, but at those words, he stiffened. “Who told her that?”
Fern lifted her hands, palms up. “Not me. How’d you know, Mercy?”
“I guessed a secret!” Mercedes crowed. “’Cause he’s like the movies Mommy watched at night.”
“There you go, Rambo,” Fern said drily.
He turned away, using his flashlight to guide him toward the kitchen. He was trying to leave his mercenary days behind, trying to atone for them, actually, but it seemed he couldn’t shed the stink of war. Nor the things he’d done there.
Oh, he’d been on the right side, fighting for the common people against dictators who committed atrocities and ruined lives. But you couldn’t help getting some blood on your hands, and as time had gone by, it had haunted him more, not less.
He shook off the thoughts and found lemon and red pepper and salt. Mixed them into a paste in a bowl, making sure the amount of red pepper was much less than his farmer friend would have used, figuring a puppy’s skin was more tender than a calf’s. And then he carried it out and spread a little near the cut.
The mama dog was curious, but even one whiff of his concoction made her turn away, snorting.
“Hey,” Fern protested. “What if she rejects the puppy now?”
“Let’s just watch. Mamas are protective. They’ll go against their best interest to take care of their young.”
Boy, did he hope he was right! He’d gotten attached to the little pup, and he felt responsible for it. Not only that, but he wanted to shove the skepticism off Fern’s face, to replace it with admiration. Fortunately, for now at least, the dog kept the puppy close to her side and allowed him to nurse.
Carlo did the evening feed of the kennel dogs himself, brushing aside Fern’s offer to go out with him. He needed a few minutes away. He needed to think.
Was he doing the right thing, not telling Fern the truth about his connection to Mercedes?
She’d be angry if he told her now, that was for sure. She might kick him right out into the snowstorm.
If she did that, he’d be fine, he’d manage, but what would happen to her and Mercedes? With shaky electricity and phone service and a barn full of dogs to take care of, they needed help. He was more and more impressed with Fern’s self-reliance and independent spirit, but even she had her limits. Taking care of a farm and a bunch of dogs and a little girl in these conditions was much more than a one-woman job.
When he went back inside, the relief on her face made him feel ten feet tall, and more certain that he was right to keep things calm, keep controversial stuff to himself, while they needed him.
He noticed that the floor was strewn with toys, mostly action figures and little plastic soldiers and dinosaurs. A box of juice lay on its side next to a dark, damp spot on the carpet. “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose, “but Mercy’s got issues. She’s still a little scared of the dark, and after you left, it got worse.
It’s because of stuff she went through with her mom. And to top that off, she’s easily frustrated, and I... Well, I caved and let her watch a video on my phone. It’s stupid, because we need to save the charge, since the landline gets glitchy in storms, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“She had a meltdown?”
She nodded. “They can come on suddenly. Again, it’s a function of her background. Kath was honest with me about how she wasn’t the best at parenting throughout Mercedes’s younger years. There was poverty and some drug use, and Mercedes didn’t always get comforted right away. That affects a kid.”
Once again, guilt washed over Carlo. He should have been there, helping, maybe even taking custody of Mercedes if Kath wasn’t able to handle her care. If only he’d known.
“So anyway, she’s upset right now because she never made cookies before, if you can believe it, and now we can’t because of the stove.”
He took a breath and did what he’d been trained to do: let the past go, focus on now. There was a lot in Mercedes’s history he couldn’t fix, but this was one thing he could. “I have an idea,” he said. “We can rig something up to bake cookies using the fireplace. Want to help me try?”
She cocked her head to one side, a slight smile making her look flirtatious. “Are you really that handy?”
“Let’s just say I’ve spent a lot of time improvising. Do you have any tinfoil?”
They used his flashlight to go through the dark kitchen cupboards, finding what they needed. They were fortunate to stumble onto an oil lamp, too, half-full. Once that was lit, Carlo carried it out to where Mercedes huddled under a blanket on the couch, clutching Fern’s phone. He set the oil lamp on the hearth above, well out of the child’s reach—you couldn’t be too careful with kids and fire.
“Okay,” Fern said, carrying the rest of the supplies out to the fireplace. “Do your best.”
“Hey, Mercy, want to stop watching the video and help me build an oven?” He needed to save the charge on that phone. His own phone was next to worthless, and they had to be able to get in touch with the outside world for emergency purposes. The landline had been out when he’d checked.
