Endless Mercy

by Tracie Peterson

  “Well, that would suit me just fine, since I know absolutely nothing about driving a team. But I’m going to have to get around in the winter. I’ve promised the native villagers that I will treat their sick and injured.”

  What manner of man was he? “Most doctors wouldn’t care about the natives.”

  This brought a chuckle. “I think you’ll find, Miss Powell, that I’m not like most doctors.”

  Madysen went out to help Havyn make breakfast. Neither she nor Havyn seemed to have the energy to talk, so Madysen spent the time in prayer for Whitney––and for herself. She presented the most important issues to God.

  Daniel was a wonderful friend. Should she explore what she’d felt when he’d comforted her?

  Buddy was a good and decent man. His intentions seemed honorable and his feelings clear. Should she take to the stage and travel? Did God want her to do that for His glory?

  One thing became clear. She needed to have a conversation with Buddy and see what his plans were. To make sure they lined up with her own priorities.

  She had time. Nothing had to be decided right away. Well, at least not until the last ship was ready to pull out of Nome.

  Havyn stirred the eggs in the pan. “I can manage this. Why don’t you see if Whit needs anything?”

  Madysen nodded and went to check on her older sister. Whitney was sound asleep. She’d be miffed with herself for not being up to run the dogs, but that was just too bad. She needed rest. No doubt John and Ben could take care of the dogs.

  Madysen made her way into the parlor and grabbed her cello and bow. It was the perfect time for a little practice as everyone dressed for the day.

  Taking her chair, she moved it over to the fireplace and settled into it with her instrument.

  With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and thought about her favorite piece—the piece that Mama had given her when she was fifteen. Bach’s Cello Suite no. 1. It fed her soul in a way nothing else could. Not needing any accompaniment or any other instrument, she felt it was the song that truly showcased her beloved cello.

  Placing her bow, she played G, D, B, A, making it dramatic and slow, and then took off into the brisk tempo of the running sixteenth notes that continued throughout the prelude. She let the notes wash over her as she played from her heart.

  For a moment, she could almost envision Mama sitting in her favorite chair, smiling as she played.

  Mama had been such a talented musician. She should have toured the world and played. Granddad often said that she had offers, but she declined them all to raise her girls.

  A tear slipped down Madysen’s cheek as she continued the piece.

  Was that why she had come up with the idea of traveling the country in honor of Mama? She hadn’t thought of her mother’s dreams before now. What had it cost Mama to decline those offers? Had she longed to go on the stage and perform? Had her situation kept her from being able to live her dream?

  “Nothing was ever more important to me than you three girls,” Mama once told Madysen. “You are my life, and I’m so blessed to be your mother.”

  No. Those weren’t the words of a woman who regretted her choices. But what if she had? What if that longing was always there, but their mother kept it buried deep inside?

  Madysen closed her eyes as the music built. It gave her a sense of taking flight—of bursting through a cloud into the warmth of bright sunshine—of spreading her wings to soar over the earth. She put aside her worries and focused on the moment. Rich melodic tones filled the room as the fire popped and crackled.

  She finished the piece in a flourish and smiled.

  “That was beautiful.”

  Madysen opened her eyes. Bethany stood there, a sweet look of awe on her face. “Thank you. It’s my favorite piece.”

  “What’s it called?” Bethany tilted her head.

  “Bach’s Cello Suite no. 1.”

  Bethany scrunched up her nose and frowned. “That’s not a very pretty name. It needs a name like ‘Butterflies in Flight,’ or something else that sounds like the picture the music paints.”

  What a surprising and insightful comment. “That’s actually a very interesting thought. You’re right. The title is quite bland.” She stood up and took her cello back over to its case. “And I always think of flying when I play it.”

  “It sounds like that, or like running and twirling.” Bethany gave a whirl.

  Madysen couldn’t help but chuckle. “Is breakfast ready?”

  “Yes.” Bethany stopped in midtwirl. “Havyn sent me in here to tell you, but I got all caught up in the music. You are so good.”

  “Thank you. I’ve practiced for many, many years. I don’t know what I would do without music. Do you play any instruments?”

  Bethany shook her head. “Could you . . . teach me?”

  Madysen loosened the bow hair before putting it in the case. “Are you willing to practice every day?”

  Her little sister’s eyes lit up. “Yes. I will practice all the time. I’ve always wanted to be able to play music.”

  Madysen laid her hand on Bethany’s shoulder, and they walked to the kitchen together. “What instrument strikes your fancy the most?”

  “I thought it would be piano. Until I heard you play the cello just now. I think I want to learn that.” A full smile covered the girl’s face.

  Madysen turned Bethany to her so they were face-to-face. “How about both?”

  Her little sister’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  “Really. That’s how I learned. Maybe after we get all the chores done today, we can start.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’m good at chores. Can we go now?”

  Madysen laughed. “And skip breakfast? You must really want to learn.”

  “I do, I do!” Bethany clapped her hands and twirled around several times.

  Her sister’s unbridled joy made Madysen want to twirl around with her. And to think, she had almost denied herself the chance to know her other siblings. “Good, because we have lots of chores to do around the farm before we can play.”

  “But we can start today?”

  Madysen’s heart melted a little more for this sweet girl. “Yes. We will start today.”

  Bethany took off for the kitchen skipping and singing, “I’m going to learn muuusic!”

  She’d done that—brought joy to a twelve-year-old. That’s what music had always done for Madysen.

  She stopped at the doorway as her breath caught. What if she left Nome? Wouldn’t she trample the sweet girl’s dreams?

  How could she live with herself if she did that?

  TWENTY-ONE

  Daniel slowed his horse as he neared the Bundrant family farm. Snow sparkled across acres of rolling hills, and in a distant valley, Daniel could just discern the edges of the frozen river.

  Beautiful.

  There was peace here, a peace Daniel needed but couldn’t quite wrap his fingers around. Madysen said it was because he had relied on his parents’ and grandparents’ faith, so when it was tested, he’d run away.

  Was she right? Or was he ready to believe anything she said because he was halfway in love with her?

  Maddy. Her name was as beautiful as her home. She had let him call her by her nickname, and she’d walked into his arms and let him comfort her.

  What would life be like with her at his side?

  He smiled and kicked his horse back into a steady clop.

  As much as he wanted to explore the enticing possibility, Maddy was in love with Buddy Merrick. At least she thought she was.

  Besides, if Daniel was ever going to deserve the love of a woman like her, he needed to resolve his bitterness toward God.

  John had also lost his parents, and yet he lived at peace. How had he done it?

  As Daniel neared the house, he waved at Whitney. She returned his wave but didn’t smile. That wasn’t like her. Maddy said her sister had been injured. The doctor had come, but maybe whatever medication he brought w
asn’t strong enough to dull Whitney’s pain.

  A crunch turned his attention.

  Amka, the native woman who often helped on the farm, struggled to wheel Mr. Bundrant through the ice-crusted snow.

  Daniel dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching pole. “Should he be outside?”

  Amka stopped pushing the wheelchair and sighed. “You know Mr. Chuck. He’s determined to inspect the farm now that he’s feeling just a tiny bit better.”

  Chuck pulled the plaid blanket over his legs closer to his waist. “My job.”

  Amka came around to the side of the chair. “Your walking is getting better, Mr. Chuck. Why don’t we wait until you are up on your feet?”

  “No.” Chuck lifted his chin. “Now.”

  Amka looked heavenward and shook her head.

  Daniel grinned. Nice to know the man had some faults. His granddaughters described him almost as a saint. Who could live up to that?

  “All right, you stubborn man.” Amka returned to the back of the wheelchair. “But I now have a witness that I warned you this was a bad idea.”

  Chuck grunted.

  Daniel trudged closer. “Let me help.”

  She gave way with a smile. “Thank you.”

  “Where are we headed?” Daniel looked to Amka.

  She pointed at the same moment Chuck said, “Barn.”

  Although the older man had hollow cheeks and his coat looked about two sizes too big, pushing him through the uneven patches of snow and ice had Daniel sweating by the time they reached the barn door.

  “Thank . . . you.” Chuck sounded out of breath, as though he’d been the one pushing the wheelchair.

  Daniel turned to Amka. “I need to find John, but I can come back to help you with him later.”

  She shook her head. “I appreciate it, but I can manage.” She pointed to her left. “Mr. John is over there checking the cattle.”

  “Thanks.” Daniel picked his way through the snow back to his horse and mounted up. He inhaled the scents of farm life. He’d missed it. Which was as surprising as it was comforting. He’d run far, disdainful of his life before his mom and grandpa died, as a way of distancing himself from the good memories. He’d focused on the pain, the hardship, and the stench of farming. But after his first encounter with Maddy, even the smell of manure made him smile. She had a way of making everything better.

  Even God.

  Daniel reined to the left. It was time to stop running away from what he didn’t want and start running toward the things he did want. He didn’t want to run a store, he didn’t even want to live in town. So that left . . .

  Farming.

  He laughed aloud. He’d run all the way to Alaska to get away from the one thing he wanted most in the world. If that was God’s idea of a joke, it was a pretty good one. Was He, as Maddy and Granny insisted, far greater and more loving than the distant, uncaring God Daniel had decided He was?

  The issue needed to be settled.

  Daniel spotted a large herd of cows huddled together near the river. John was riding around the edge of the herd. He lifted a hand in greeting and steered his horse in Daniel’s direction. “Good morning, Daniel. Good to see you.”

  “You too. Checking the herd?”

  “Yep. Since we started year-round breeding techniques, I’ve got to keep a closer eye on things. The demand for milk and cream is up, so the extra work is paying off.”

  “Seems like you might need more help.” Daniel scanned the horizon.

  “You volunteering?” John cut a look at the cheese kitchen. His tone of voice said he was teasing.

  “Well . . .” Daniel left his thought unfinished. He was here to ask John about God, not about a job.

  “Are you saying you’d come work here?” John leaned forward in his saddle. “Because I’ve got my hands full, and we just talked about hiring someone to be my right-hand man. This cheese business looks to make a tidy profit, but we need good help.”

  Daniel gripped the reins tighter in his hands. It was the same work he’d grown up with, but running it in the Alaskan climate was far different. Working on a farm as successful as Chuck Bundrant’s, learning how to handle the long, bitterly cold winter, might be the difference between success and failure. Then maybe one day, he could own his own farm.

  He relaxed his grip. “I’d like to think about it, if that’s all right.”

  “Please do. I’ll need an answer by next week, though.”

  Daniel nodded.

  “Which reminds me, I need to check on this morning’s milking. The regular milkers are used to the cows, but since we’ve added the sheep, the process is much slower. Want to go with me?”

  “Sure, but I was hoping we’d have a chance to talk.”

  John clicked his tongue at his horse. “What can I do for you?”

  Daniel shifted in his saddle as they moseyed along the river, letting their horses take it slow. This is what he’d come for, but now that the moment was here, his heart was beating like he was pushing that wheelchair again. He took several breaths to calm his heart rate. “Can I ask you about your faith?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “I know you lost your parents when you were young.” Daniel looked John in the eye. “Did that make you bitter toward God?”

  John sat up straighter. “No.”

  Daniel huffed. This farm was full of men who were saints. Men who, unlike him, hadn’t questioned and run away and . . . He blinked several times to clear his mind’s eye of the things he’d done in the Yukon. Maybe God hadn’t answered his prayers to save his mom and grandfather because He knew the terrible things Daniel would do.

  “I was hurt, obviously.” John’s low words carried a hint of sadness. “I grieved for a long time, but Nonno—my grandfather—kept telling me that just because bad things happen doesn’t mean that God doesn’t care or see.”

  “And that made losing your parents okay? Just like that?” He rubbed his forehead.

  “Hardly.” John shook his head. “I was a sad, mean kid for a long time because I missed my parents so much. But Nonno reminded me that the Bible says we’ll have tribulation in this world. And Jesus said that we were to take heart because He had overcome the world. That was what I clung to.”

  Daniel sighed. “Granny shared that verse with me too, but I guess I’m missing the point. If God has enough power to overcome the world, shouldn’t He use it to protect His children from harm? Isn’t that what a loving father should do?” The resentment Daniel thought he’d put behind him seeped into his words.

  John looked down for a moment. When he raised his head again, there was compassion in his brown eyes. “You could ask those same questions of a hundred different people and get a hundred different answers. I’m no theologian, so I can only tell you what makes the most sense to me.”

  “That’s all I can ask for.” It was all anyone could ask for, but Daniel wanted more. He wanted a solid, unmovable answer that satisfied him to the core. Because the distance between him and God had escalated from an occasional annoying itch to a relentless unquenchable thirst.

  “Let me start by asking you a question.” A gust of wind blew John’s scarf across his face. “But let’s ride closer to the cheese kitchen while we talk.”

  Daniel turned his horse so he and John could ride side by side.

  “Should God have saved His own Son from harm?”

  Daniel felt his eyes widen. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “I think you do, but it doesn’t fit your presumption that God should save His children, so you don’t want to answer.”

  Harsh. But true. The Bible stories and lessons learned at his mother’s knee flooded Daniel’s mind. “Then, no. If God had saved Jesus from the cross, there’d be no forgiveness of sins.” And even if no one else on earth needed forgiveness, he did.

  “Which is how God overcame the world.” John cut a glance at Daniel. “He didn’t overcome it with power. He overcame it with sacrifice.”

  Daniel f
elt his heart crack open a sliver. Bitterness began to dribble out.

  But John wasn’t done. “Let me ask you another question. Once a person accepts Jesus’ sacrifice for sins, should he go immediately to heaven?”

  The question was rhetorical, so Daniel didn’t answer.

  “Of course not. We’re here to draw people to Christ. It’s our job. Now I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked a lot of jobs, and I never made friends with the people who were high above me. I made friends with the men who were shoveling the same muck I was.”

  Daniel started fitting pieces into place. “So if God’s children don’t have to shovel muck too, how can they talk to the people around them about Christ?”

  “Exactly.” They reached the cheese kitchen. John drew his horse to a halt.

  Daniel reined his mount in so they faced one another.

  “Like I said, I’m no theologian”—John leaned down to pat his horse’s neck—“but it seems to me that God needs us to show the people around us what a difference having a relationship with Him makes when we face the same hardships they do.”

  Daniel stared at the ground. “I’m starting to see that God didn’t take my mom and grandpa because He hated me, but I don’t know what to do with this anger I’ve carried around for the last nine years.” He looked up at John. “I’m tired of it. I want it gone, I just don’t know how to make that happen.”

  “Have you ever asked Christ to take it from you?”

  The simple question shattered what was left of the shell around Daniel’s heart. “A thousand times, but why would He? I’ve done horrible things that—”

  “I’m cutting you off right there.” John raised his left hand, palm out. “Too many people think there are big sins and small sins. But there’s just sin. It means missing the mark. In the book of Romans, Paul calls it falling short of the glory of God.”

  “But that’s an impossible standard.”

  “Exactly.” John shrugged. “And it gets worse. The consequences of sin are death—both physical and spiritual.”

  Daniel had heard his whole life about Christ’s sacrifice to pay the penalty for sin, but for the first time, it wasn’t some theoretical idea. It was real. “So since Jesus lived the perfect life, He was the one person who didn’t deserve death and could, therefore, pay the penalty so I don’t have to.”