by Jo Ann Brown
She couldn’t mess it up. Already she’d made the mistake of not keeping a closer eye on Sunni. Her daughter had been born with a congenital curiosity not diminished by her physical challenges. Mercy’s determination that the little girl should do anything a regular kid could allowed Sunni to indulge her quick and inquiring mind. Telling Sunni not to investigate the rooms upstairs because the floors were unsafe must have convinced her to find out how dangerous they were.
Mercy was letting herself get distracted by a handsome stranger who appeared to be a few years older than her twenty-five years. His bright blue eyes that had been shadowed by his black wool hat identified him as one of the Amish farmers moving into the hollow. Grandpa Rudy had told her about the new settlement in one of his letters. He’d been writing to her every week since she was eleven years old, the year she’d been adopted by his son and daughter-in-law and given a chance to have a new life and the loving family she’d feared she’d never have again.
She was startled how far up she had to look to meet Jeremiah’s eyes. Few Amish men she’d met had been as tall as he was. If his ruddy hair hadn’t been cut in the plain style and he wasn’t wearing a simple light blue shirt along with black suspenders and broadfall trousers beneath his black coat, she wouldn’t have guessed this very good-looking man was Amish.
Scolding herself, she recalled how Graham Rapp was easy on the eyes, too, but he’d broken her heart by showing how much a “mama’s boy” he was by choosing his mother when Mercy refused to be second. She must not let herself be beguiled by an attractive man again. Not when so much was on the line with her plans for the farm and the changes it could make in many young lives.
But the Amish were well-known for their honesty. So why was Jeremiah talking nonsense about Grandpa Rudy selling him the farm?
“I think you’re mistaken,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t quake with the strong emotions rushing through her like lightning in a summer sky. “My grandfather didn’t mention anything about selling Come Along Farm.”
“Come Along Farm?”
“That’s the name he gave the farm when I was little. He urged us to come along and keep up with him while he did chores, so we called it Come Along Farm.”
“He didn’t tell you he’s selling me the farm?”
“No!”
“I’m sorry to take you by surprise,” he said gently, “but I’ll be closing the day after tomorrow.”
“Impossible!” Her voice squeaked, and she took a steadying breath. Sounding as young as Sunni wouldn’t help. And she didn’t want her raised voice to bring her daughter from the kitchen to investigate. The little girl was upset enough already to have to leave their Mennonite community and Mercy’s parents in central New York, and Mercy hadn’t missed the glares Sunni had shot at Jeremiah. When she and Graham ended their ill-advised engagement, her daughter had been caught up in the aftermath and no longer trusted men she didn’t know. Mercy’s attempts to reassure Sunni that the little girl had nothing to do with the breakup hadn’t helped.
“It’s not impossible. I’ve got the paperwork in my suitcase on the porch. If you want to see it—”
“I don’t have interest in seeing what can’t be legitimate. It sounds as if someone has played a horrible prank on you, Jeremiah. I’m sorry.” She was, because she guessed he’d traveled for hours or days to get there. “But the farm’s not for sale.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Taking a deep breath, he released it. In a calm tone she doubted she could emulate, he said, “There’s no sense in arguing. Why don’t you get your grossdawdi, and we’ll settle this?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She blinked on sudden tears. “Because he’s dead.”
When Jeremiah’s face became ashen, Mercy wondered if she should tell him to take a seat. It must have been seconds, but it felt like a year before he asked, “Rudy is dead?”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat.
“When?”
“Last week. It was a massive heart attack. He was buried the day before yesterday.” As she spoke, she found it impossible to believe the vital, vigorous man was gone.
Rudy Bamberger had been more than a grandfather to her. He’d been her best friend, the one who had welcomed her into the family after her life had hit bottom. Rudy hadn’t been a replacement for Abuelita, her beloved grandmother who had raised her when she was called Mercedes in a tiny apartment in the Bronx. Abuelita had died two weeks after Mercy’s tenth birthday, and everything in Mercy’s life had changed, including her name. Yet, Grandpa Rudy had made her feel as if she belonged among the people who were so different from those she’d known in the city. His love had been unconditional, and she’d returned it.
“I’m sorry,” Jeremiah said with sincerity.
She wished he’d been trite instead of genuine, because one thing hadn’t changed. He wanted to take away the farm that was her final gift from Grandpa Rudy. How often she’d sat on the old man’s lap and talked about taking care of the apple orchard or making maple syrup as he did each spring or what color she would paint the big bedroom! He’d humored her, even when her paint choices went from pink to purple to red and black over the years.
But Jeremiah was saying her grandfather had intended to sell the farm to him.
“But Grandpa Rudy told me the farm would be mine after he passed away.”
“Then why would he sign a purchase agreement with me?”
Mercy shook herself from her mental paralysis. She hated admitting she couldn’t guess why her grandfather would break his promise to her.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
Shocked she hadn’t noticed Sunni in the kitchen doorway, Mercy put her arm around her daughter’s narrow shoulders. “Nothing that can’t be fixed,” she replied with a smile.
Over the child’s head, she shot Jeremiah a frown, warning him not to upset Sunni. She didn’t want her daughter to feel as if her world was being taken away from her—again—as it must have when Sunni traveled from Korea to what was supposed to be her forever home. It hadn’t been, because her adoptive parents, who’d changed her name from Kim Sun-Hee to Sunni, couldn’t handle having a daughter who wore leg braces. Sunni had been returned to social services as if she were a set of curtains that didn’t match the furniture. A disrupted adoption was the name given to it. Or a failed placement. The latter fit better, because it sure felt like a failure for the child involved.
As Mercy had learned herself fifteen years ago when she’d been the one given away by what she’d thought would be her forever family. If the Bambergers hadn’t been there to take her in... No, she didn’t want to think of that awful time.
Again, she warned herself to focus on the present, not the past. And her and Sunni’s future. She had to stop letting her emotions take over. She needed to be logical. Building Come Along Farm into a retreat for city kids would require her to face a lot of bureaucracy on local and state levels. She must be ready to stand up for what she wanted.
“Sunni, if you go and get the book we were reading, I’ll meet you in the living room once I’m finished here.”
The little girl looked from her to Jeremiah, then nodded. “Okay, Mommy.”
Mercy said nothing as Jeremiah watched Sunni hobble away. There was no pity in his expression, and she was grateful. Too many people felt sorry for Sunni, calling her a “poor little thing.” Sunni was one of the strongest people Mercy knew and had learned to walk through perseverance and hard work. If only Mercy could help her heal from the emotional wounds she’d suffered, but those would take more time.
As soon as the little girl was out of earshot, Mercy said, “I guess I should see the purchase agreement you say my grandfather signed.”
Jeremiah hooked a thumb toward the door. “Give me a minute, and I’ll dig out the paperwork I’ve got.”
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She considered locking the door, but that wouldn’t solve the problem. Instead, she held the door open while he brought in two scuffed duffel bags.
Closing the door, she said nothing while he opened one bag and found a manila envelope. He withdrew a sheaf of pages and sorted through them. In the middle of the stack, he pulled out several and offered them to her.
“Here’s everything I got from your grossdawdi through my Realtor,” he said without a hint of emotion.
Mercy didn’t look to discover if compassion had slipped into his gaze. This time, for her. She wanted it no more than Sunni would have. When he handed her the pages, his work-roughened skin brushed against her fingers. Sensation arced between them like electricity, and she jerked her hand away. Being attracted to the man who insisted he was buying her family’s farm would be stupid.
If he had the same reaction, she couldn’t tell, because she carefully kept her gaze on the papers. She scanned each page, her heart sinking lower and lower. Everything looked aboveboard, and she recognized her grandfather’s scrawled signature on the bottom of each page. She didn’t stop to decipher every bit of legalese, but grasped enough to know Grandpa Rudy was selling the farm to Jeremiah Stoltzfus.
Just as Jeremiah claimed.
“But my grandfather died,” she whispered. “Doesn’t that change things?”
“I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve ever bought property.” He gave her a lopsided grin that lifted her traitorous heart once more.
Paying it no attention, she returned the papers to him and he put them in his bag. No one could answer the question gnawing at her most. Why would her grandfather promise her the property and then decide to sell it without telling her? She’d often mentioned her plans for the farm. Hadn’t he read her letters? Yes, he had, because he’d responded to things in them. But never, she realized with a jolt of dismay, had he written anything about her intention to make Come Along Farm a sanctuary for city youngsters like the one she’d enjoyed when she was a Fresh Air kid years ago, escaping for two amazing weeks each summer from the steam bath of the Bronx.
“I’m not sure what we should do,” he said when she remained silent.
“Me, either.” For the first time she looked straight into his brilliantly blue eyes. He must realize what she was about to say she meant with all her heart. “However, you need to know I’m not going to relinquish my family’s farm to you or anyone else.”
“But—”
“We moved in a couple of days ago. We’re not giving it up.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s our home.”
Chapter Two
Jeremiah had to select his words with care. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed to close on the farm as scheduled. He’d never heard of a person dying before property was transferred, because in Paradise Springs most farms were handed down from one generation to the next.
As Mercy said Rudy had meant to do with this farm. He’d changed his mind, but why?
Until he spoke with Kitty Vasic, his Realtor, and got her advice, he didn’t know what the outcome of this sticky situation would be. Mercy wasn’t going to back down. That much was clear. If their situations were reversed, he suspected he’d be as unwilling to compromise. He was unwilling to compromise.
There wasn’t room to. Either the farm was going to be his...or it wasn’t.
“It’s late,” he said when he realized Mercy was waiting for him to say something. “I doubt Kitty’s office is open. Do you know anyone nearby who has a phone I could use?”
As if in answer to him, a faint ringing came from beyond the living room. He glanced at Mercy and saw she was as surprised as he was at the unexpected sound.
“Phone!” called Sunni. “I’ll get it.”
“No! I’ll get it.” Mercy spun on her heel and ran toward the sound.
Jeremiah followed, too curious to wait. He paid no attention to the large living room as he went after Mercy through what looked like a storage room and then into a bedroom. It was draped in shadows, but a single greenish light glared off to one side.
Mercy grabbed the cordless phone and jabbed at a button. Holding it to her ear, she asked, “Hello?”
The faint buzz of a voice reached him, but he couldn’t discern words. His eyes widened when she held the phone out to him.
“It’s for you,” she said.
“For me?”
“Yes, unless you know another Jeremiah Stoltzfus.”
He knew three others in Paradise Springs alone. Taking the phone, he said, “This is Jeremiah Stoltzfus.”
“Hi, Jeremiah,” replied a strained female voice. “This is Kitty Vasic. I know Rudy invited you to the farm, so I thought I’d catch you there. We need to talk. Rudy Bamberger is dead.”
“Ja, I know.” He glanced toward Mercy, but she’d gone to stand by a window. Talking about this was uncomfortable. For him, the farm and his future were at stake, but she’d lost her grossdawdi. He didn’t like the idea of losing his opportunity to buy this farm, but he also disliked the idea of taking Mercy’s home.
“I’ve got something tonight I can’t get out of,” Kitty said. “How about I come over tomorrow afternoon?”
“Tomorrow afternoon should be fine.” What else could he say?
“Good. I’ll meet you at the farm around one.”
He thanked her. Tilting the phone toward the faint light coming through the window, he found the button to end the call. He set it in its holder. It chirped once, and then its glow faded.
“That was my Realtor,” Jeremiah said. “She’s coming over tomorrow afternoon around one to discuss what happens next.”
A soft click sounded in the room before a lamp came on by the side of a bed with a headboard taller than he was. It was carved with a great tree filled with birds and other beasts gathered below it. He realized the lamp must have been connected to a timer.
“I can make myself scarce,” Mercy replied.
He shook his head. “Don’t. You should be here so you can ask Kitty your questions. In fact, you should contact the Realtor your grossdawdi used and have him here.”
“I have no idea who that is.”
“His name is on the paperwork I signed. Why don’t I get it? It might have his phone number. You can call him and get him here, too.”
She rubbed her hands together. “Thank you, Jeremiah. You’re being nice about this.”
“Me? You didn’t throw me out on my ear when I barged in.”
When she smiled, it was as if another dozen lights had turned on. “I couldn’t throw you out after you saved me from my own foolishness.”
The pleasant warmth buzzed through him again as his gaze connected with hers. He looked away. Until he knew what was going to happen with the farm, he needed to keep his distance.
Turning on his heel, he went to where he’d left his bags. He’d get the information she needed and then...
And then what?
Tell her he’d planned to stay here tonight? He couldn’t insist Mercy and her little girl find another place tonight. He wasn’t sure what, under the circumstances, would happen if he left the property before the disposition of the farm was decided. Possession being nine-tenths of the law...or something like that.
He paused as he saw an overhead photo of the farm. His gaze riveted on the tenant house. It was the answer to tonight’s impasse.
Digging among the stack of legal forms, he found the purchase agreement. He paged through it to find Rudy’s Realtor’s name and contact information. There! He pulled a pencil out of his pocket along with the small notebook that he kept handy to take notes when someone ordered a piece of furniture. Though he planned to concentrate on farming, he knew he’d be doing woodworking on the side until he could get his first crop harvested. His hand tools and small power tools were on their way to Harmony Creek. As he wrote the name and number
of Rudy’s Realtor, he hoped he wouldn’t have to ship those heavy crates back unopened.
He handed the information to Mercy, who nodded her thanks. Returning the papers in the envelope, he dropped it into the open bag. He drew the strings to close it and looked at Mercy. She was as serious as a sinner confessing in front of the Leit. Maybe it was for the best she didn’t smile again. He was too fascinated by the high arch of her cheekbones and her dark eyes.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “We’re not going to settle this tonight. It makes sense for you and your little girl to stay here. I’ll sleep in the tenant house.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s very kind, Jeremiah, but I’m not sure there’s heat in the tenant house.”
“I can figure out something.” He glanced around the room. “Do you have blankets?”
“There are plenty upstairs. Help yourself.” After she’d given him directions to the linen closet and he started for the stairs in the narrow space behind the door, she added, “Be careful. Like I told Sunni, the floors aren’t as sturdy as they should be.”
“I’ll take my cue from her and test the floors before I step on them.” He hurried upstairs before his grin popped out and betrayed how pleased he was to have an excuse to see more of the house he hoped would become his.
A pulse of guilt coursed through him, hot and powerful. The farm belonged to Mercy’s family, and he’d be upset if someone came along and insisted his brother surrender his claim on the farm where Jeremiah had grown up. But if he walked away, he might not find another farm near Harmony Creek.
Leaving to live elsewhere might be the difference between the new settlement succeeding or failing. A settlement needed about a dozen families to prosper, and a single person not staying as agreed could doom it. He’d made a deal with the other families, and he couldn’t break it without trying to stay.
Following Mercy’s directions to a linen closet, Jeremiah paused whenever he heard the floor creak beneath him. Each time it wasn’t anything more than the sounds made by an old building. He went to the closet beside the single bathroom on the upper floor and glanced into each room as he passed. Most were empty. Remnants of wallpaper hung in loose strips, and a damp odor filled every breath. Nibbled acorns warned squirrels had invaded. He was sure they were in the attic, too. Once it was warm enough for the squirrels to go outside, he’d check the exterior and block the holes they’d made to get into the house.
