by Jo Ann Brown
Jeremiah waited until she brought a plate with four pancakes to the table. She pushed two more onto his plate before she set hers down. After getting herself kaffi and offering him juice, which he passed on because it would taste sour after the syrup, she pulled out her chair and sat. She bowed her head, and he said nothing while she thanked the Lord for the meal.
Could she be thanking God for Jeremiah’s company? Maybe she was grateful to have endured another day with him. Was she just being more polite than her daughter? Possibly, because she must want to move ahead with the farm. For the first time, he wondered if he was being shortsighted trying to stay, but what else could he do? Until his funds were released from escrow, he couldn’t purchase another farm. His sole choice might be to return to Paradise Springs, and he wasn’t ready to start over at square one.
Not yet.
Jeremiah looked for a safe topic to disrupt the silence. “You said you learned about siblings. It sounds as if you eventually had some.”
“I had two brothers and a sister after I was adopted.”
“Adopted?” He was glad she seemed focused on her food so she didn’t see the astonishment on his face. No doubt she heard it in his voice.
“When I was eleven. That was after my Abuelita—my grandmother—died. She’d been raising me.”
“What happened to your parents?”
She chased the syrup around her plate with a piece of pancake, but didn’t lift it to her mouth. “A car accident when I was two years old. They were on their way to the hospital for the birth of their second child when they were struck by another car. Abuelita told me the police said they died instantly. She said I needed to be grateful they never felt any pain before they went to heaven, but I couldn’t be when I was a little girl who couldn’t understand why God wanted to take my mama and papa and my unborn sister away.”
“Mercy, I’m so sorry.” He hated the sight of tears seeping into her eyes. How many had she cried through the years as she mourned those she could barely remember?
“Thank you.” She dabbed a knuckle at her eye and squared her shoulders. “Abuelita took me in and became more like my mother than my grandmother. Everything I know of my parents is from what she told me and from the picture of them on their wedding day. I don’t know what happened to that photo. To be honest, Jeremiah, it seems like someone else’s past. Once I was adopted by the Bambergers, my life began anew.”
“Certainly you haven’t forgotten the first eleven years of your life?”
“No, but I took Grandpa Rudy’s advice. He urged me to treasure the memories of those who had left me behind. I have many precious ones of Abuelita, and I can re-create every detail of that photo. I can even recall the name of the studio where it was taken. Lincoln Photography on Fordham Road. I remember it because I thought President Lincoln had taken their picture.”
“I doubt your parents would have appreciated you thinking they were that old.” He chuckled. “Kids always think their parents are ancient. Sunni probably thinks you’re older than the hills.”
“Thanks.” A grin transformed her face, and he knew he would gladly sit and look at it for hours at a time.
Shaking his head, he warned himself not to be silly. He was the only one of his siblings not married or getting ready to marry, but now was the worst time to get involved with anyone. Most especially with the woman who held the key to his future in her slender hands.
Not Mercy, his conscience argued, but her family.
Jeremiah pushed his plate away enough so he could fold his arms on the table. “I was nearly grown when my daed died, but it wasn’t easy to lose him.”
“No matter what anyone says, there’s no good time to lose someone we love.”
She didn’t seem surprised that he turned the conversation to such a sad subject. In fact, she seemed grateful he was listening and wasn’t trying to relieve her pain with more jests.
Quietly, she added, “Knowing they’re bound for a better place is supposed to ease the loss, but it’s sad to think of not seeing them for a very long time.”
“A very long time, I hope.”
She nodded, then took a sip of her orange juice. “I should have finished that before I began the pancakes.” Without a pause, she went on. “Jeremiah, I know you’re as eager as I am to hear from my father and his siblings. We’ve got to be patient.”
“I’m trying.”
“Me, too.” She put down her glass. “It sounds as if your family lives close together.”
“Except for my oldest sister, everyone lives within a mile of where we grew up.”
“Not my father’s family. Shortly after they were married, my parents joined others who wanted to start a new church in western New York. That’s what they told me anyhow.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“I’m sure they’re being honest, but I think it’s strange my dad’s siblings moved away from Harmony Creek, and they’re scattered from New York to California. I think that was one of the reasons Grandpa Rudy was glad to have me come every year. The rest of the family’s visits were infrequent.”
“Which explains,” he said slowly, pondering the ramifications, “why nobody thought it odd Rudy was leaving the farm to you. It sounds as if none of the rest of them wanted it.”
“Let’s hope they still feel that way.” She paused when Sunni came into the kitchen. After Mercy made more pancakes for her daughter, the little girl rushed away to the dining room as if she feared Jeremiah was infectious with a horrible disease.
He waved aside Mercy’s embarrassed apology as she added another serving of pancakes to his plate. “Kids are kids. She’ll accept me when she’s ready.”
“I pray so.” As she handed him the syrup bottle, she said, “Dad hopes to get back to me in the next few days, though nothing is settled until everyone agrees. I can’t imagine any of them coming here.” She glanced out the window at the sparkling snow. “But then I can’t imagine why they left this beautiful hollow in the first place.”
“Some people need to get out from under their family’s shadow, whether it’s the shadow of success or failure.”
“Is that why you came here?” She put her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry, Jeremiah. I shouldn’t have asked you such a personal question.”
“Why not? I’ve been asking you personal questions.”
“I want you to know I wasn’t asking why in the hope of discovering something that would give me an upper hand in claiming the farm.”
He put his hand on her arm and wasn’t surprised to find it trembling. What startled him was how swiftly he was suffused with warmth as if summer had arrived and flooded the house with sunshine. Knowing he should pull away, he didn’t. He liked the sensation of her soft skin beneath his fingertips.
“That’s not why I asked about your past, either. Mercy, we can’t let this situation make us too competitive or too bitter.”
“I know, but...”
He lifted his hand from her arm as she tensed beneath his fingers. “The truth of why I came here is because I wanted to start over. The woman I thought I’d marry decided to marry someone else.”
“I’m sorry.”
He believed her. She felt everything so deeply, and he hoped she couldn’t tell he wasn’t being completely honest when he said, “Danki, but Emmarita is in the past. I want to look to the future, so I came to Harmony Creek. Here I can be part of the building of a new settlement. It’s exciting to think the steps I’m taking could lead to a place that will provide homes for Amish families for generations to come.”
She didn’t reply, so he pushed back his chair. With a swift prayer of gratitude for the meal, he stood.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I need to see if there are usable tarps in the big barn. It looks like more snow, and the roof on the barn where my tools are has more holes than an old pair of sneake
rs.”
“Thanks for your help, Jeremiah.”
“Danki for breakfast.”
When again she remained silent, he put his hat and coat on and turned up his collar before he opened the door. A cold blast of wind sucked him out onto the porch.
He looked across the yard toward the barns. Lord, I could use your help in seeing the way I should go. I’m here to help make this settlement a success. How can I without this farm?
It was possible in the coming months, after they had houses fit to live in, one of the other families might be able to offer him a place to stay. He could return to making furniture, though it would take time to establish the business, and he’d have to discover what he needed to do to open a woodworking shop in New York. Selling many of his tools in order to raise money for the farm had seemed like a gut choice before he found the situation was far more complicated than he’d imagined.
He did a quick inventory in his mind. He had enough tools to do simple projects. Eventually, he could buy new tools to make furniture, which would boost his profits.
But could he set aside his dream of farming? And how could he ask Mercy to put aside hers so he could have the future he wanted along Harmony Creek? He was no closer to the answer than he’d been the moment he saw her in the house.
No, he was further away because his attraction to her was sure to complicate the situation unless he was careful.
Very, very, very careful.
Chapter Five
Mercy made certain the ladder was secure against the wall before she tore off the final pieces of hideous wallpaper after lunch later that week. She was glad to toss aside the tea rose pattern and watch it flit onto the pile of scraps she’d made. If she’d had to look at the ugly wallpaper much longer, she would have had nightmares about the disgusting pink roses for a full week.
She laughed as she climbed off the ladder. Once she swept up the strips, she’d never have to see it again.
Pausing as she stepped onto the smooth wood floors, she imagined how the walls would look with a fresh coat of paint. The dark woodwork would complement it. With the variety of oak furniture in the room and forest green tiles edging the fireplace opening, the room would look inviting. She wasn’t sure why her grandfather hadn’t changed it years ago.
Her feeling of accomplishment faded. Was it silly to do all this work? If the farm wasn’t going to be hers, she was wasting her time redoing the house to make it a home for her and Sunni.
She wasn’t going to sit around and wait to hear from Dad. If they agreed to let her somehow buy the farm, she’d regret the time lost. She’d already sent a copy of the approval she’d gotten as a foster parent before Sunni was placed with her as well as other forms to county and state offices to begin the approval process for turning the farm into a summer camp for underprivileged city children.
Though it was difficult to think about warm weather when it was snowing—again!—and drifts were rising over the bottom of the porch railing. It was getting so deep Sunni didn’t want to go outside. And it was cold! Even with a full tank of fuel oil, the house couldn’t shake its chill. No wonder Sunni had made a tent out of blankets in the dining room to give herself a warm cocoon where she could read and color.
Chafing her cold hands, Mercy decided to do something to keep her warm, too. Not sweeping up the damp wallpaper strips. She’d turn her attention to finding the will Grandpa Rudy must have left somewhere in the house.
Two hours later she was running out of places to look on the first floor. She’d gone through the stacks of papers, mail and unread newspapers on her grandfather’s desk. She’d checked every cubbyhole and drawer, including the “secret” one he’d shown her when she turned thirteen. He kept nothing in it more secret than his stash of root beer candies.
She resisted stopping to read the papers her grandfather had kept. Later...
Going to the back stairs she preferred rather than the grander front staircase, Mercy went up. The floors over the kitchen were sturdier than at the other end of the house.
Where should she begin? Where would Grandpa Rudy have put such an important document?
Mercy gnawed on her lower lip as she looked along the upper hallway. He’d told her so often that he’d made a will. Or that he was going to. If he had, wouldn’t he have kept a copy somewhere in the house?
Both attorneys in nearby Salem had told her that they hadn’t helped him draft a will. Why would Grandpa Rudy have been so specific about leaving her instructions on what to do after his death if he hadn’t left a will somewhere? Maybe he hadn’t gotten around to putting his thoughts on paper.
No, she didn’t want to believe that.
Had Grandpa Rudy taken his business elsewhere? He liked to travel throughout the county as well as in the nearby hills of Vermont. His old truck had a half million miles on the odometer, proof he had friends far and wide throughout the area. Should she contact other law offices in the area?
The idea gave her a headache, because it probably would be a waste of time. Not that she didn’t have time to waste. Talking to her parents last night had been as discouraging as the search for the will. Her father’s siblings disagreed about what to do with the farm.
“There’s no hurry,” Dad had said. “Let them take the time they need to consider everything. Rushing them will annoy everyone, and making such an important decision hastily is sure to give us a reason to be sorry later.”
Mercy wasn’t sure if her parents were among the ones who would be irked if she pressed for an answer. She’d gently reminded them how vital it was to start the licensing procedures for the farm before she could open it to children. When her mother had expressed surprise, saying she thought Mercy’s foster care license would suffice, Mercy bit back her irritation. Several times before she’d left, she’d outlined for her parents what she needed to do in preparation to make Come Along Farm possible.
“I keep my important papers in my room,” Mercy said aloud, smothered by the silence. “Maybe Grandpa Rudy did, too.”
Pushing on the door she hadn’t opened since the funeral, she started to step into her grandfather’s room, then froze in the doorway. Everything about the room was a reminder of him. At the foot of the bed was the bright red-and-green afghan he’d made when he decided learning to crochet would keep his mind sharp. Two more afghans, one black-and-white and the other a gaudy yellow, were draped over an upholstered chair whose springs were gone. The seat dropped to the floor.
A low, long dresser between the room’s two windows was covered with photographs. When she’d first come to the farm, the pictures had been on a table downstairs. She’d pestered Grandpa Rudy to identify each person and tell her how they were related to her until on one visit, she discovered he’d moved them upstairs. Though he’d never complained, she guessed he’d gotten tired of sharing the same stories over and over.
She stepped back. She couldn’t go in and touch his things. Not yet. Not when the pain of losing him was so fresh.
Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she would come back if she hadn’t found a will in the house. In the meantime she could look in the other rooms where the floors were solid. Perhaps up in the attic, though she shuddered at the idea of the spiderwebs in the stairwell.
“Knock, knock,” came a shout from the first floor.
Even with the voice distorted by the narrow staircase, she couldn’t mistake it for another or ignore how her heart began to beat a bit faster.
Jeremiah!
Since the breakfast they’d shared the day the heat went out, she’d seen him at a distance and waved when he noticed her outside. He hadn’t come to the house, though she’d heard the sound of hammering, and she guessed he was doing work on the tenant house.
Hurrying down the stairs, Mercy caught sight of Sunni slipping into the kitchen. Jeremiah either hadn’t noticed her or was pretending he hadn’t.
&
nbsp; Jeremiah had taken off his black felt hat, leaving his reddish-brown hair tousled. Her fingers tingled at the thought of brushing those strands into place.
He turned to her, and her breath caught. The cold wind had burnished his face, emphasizing the strong planes that realigned when he gave her a cautious smile.
Regret slashed her. In other circumstances she and Jeremiah might have become friends, but the future of the farm remained a chasm between them. She had no idea how to cross it.
And is being friends all you aspire to become with him?
She paid no attention to the soft voice from deep within her. Instantly, she wondered if doing that was a mistake, because she hadn’t heeded what it whispered when she was seeing Graham. Maybe if she’d listened then...
Jeremiah spoke, freeing her from her uneasy thoughts. “I wanted to let you know, Mercy, I’ve got some cattle being delivered in a couple of days.”
“Cows? Here? Now?”
His face became grave. “You don’t have to remind me, Mercy, how foolish I was to make these plans before the farm was officially mine. If your family decides not to sell to me, I’ll have the animals removed and sold. I wanted you to know so you weren’t surprised when the livestock truck backs up the drive.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you letting me know.” She hated how they spoke as polite strangers who intended to remain that.
“I didn’t want you to think I was going behind your back.”
“That never crossed my mind,” she said, bowled over by his words. She’d met very few Amish people, but the ones she’d met lived a life of faith and truth.
“Gut.” His smile returned. “We’ve got to stop thinking the other one believes we have ulterior motives for everything we do or say.”
“How do we do that?”
“By accepting whatever happens with the farm is God’s will.”
Mercy couldn’t return his easy grin. God’s will? Had it been God’s will that her first placement had been disrupted by jealousy? Why would God allow her to fall for Graham so he could make her feel as if she was a second choice?
