An Amish Arrangement

by Jo Ann Brown

  He put his hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn it. “I’ll be collecting sap and starting the evaporator to make syrup in the morning. Paul can help me.”

  “That should definitely keep him busy.”

  “Oh, I’ll find lots for him to do.” His eyes twinkled and then grew serious again. “He truly is blessed to have you care about him so much. Just as I am.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “Sleep well, Mercy.”

  He was gone before she could reply. Raising her fingers to the place where his lips had grazed her face, she stared at the closed door.

  He’d kissed her.

  True, it’d been as chaste as a kiss he’d give the children, but he’d kissed her.

  She wished she knew what it meant.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Cool! Hey, Sunni! Come and see this.”

  Shocked by Paul’s eager invitation to Sunni, whom he didn’t want hanging around him, and not sure what the boy was up to, Mercy jumped up from where she was mending yet another rip in the knees of Paul’s trousers. She ran to where the cellar door was open.

  He stood a couple of steps below her on the stairs and looked at her with an excited grin. “Why didn’t you tell me you were putting a pool in the cellar? This is the coolest house ever!”

  “Pool?” She edged past him. She halted when she heard the unmistakable sound of moving water. In fact, if she hadn’t known better, she would have guessed there was a waterfall in the cellar.

  “How big is it? I wanna see.” The boy reached for the switch to turn on the lights.

  She grabbed his wrist, not wanting to risk him getting a shock.

  “Go!” she cried. “Get Jeremiah. Tell him we’ve got a flooded basement.” Looking over her shoulder, she repeated her order.

  As Paul started to go, there was a pop. Lights went out, leaving the house in a dusky twilight, and Sunni squealed from upstairs.

  Mercy went up and into the kitchen. She grabbed a flashlight from the junk drawer. When she sprayed the light, she saw the water was halfway up the stairs. High enough to have flooded the electrical box and shorted it out. Boxes and other items bobbed on the rising water. She was tempted to try to snag them, but didn’t want to fall into the filthy water topped by what looked like an oil slick.

  It seemed forever before Paul returned with Jeremiah. When she heard Jeremiah calling, she wanted to sag with relief.

  Instead, she shouted, “In the cellar!”

  He hurried toward her and whistled. “I thought Paul was exaggerating. There really is a swimming pool here.”

  “It’s rising fast.”

  “The snow is melting quickly, and the ground is frozen, so the water must have found its way through the foundation.” He paused. “Sounds like it’s pouring in over behind the fuel tank.” As he started up the stairs, he said, “Let me get the generator from my workshop. We’ll hook it to a pump. Rudy must have one around here.”

  “I’ll look for it after I open the bulkhead.”

  “Gut idea. That’ll give the water an exit out of the cellar.”

  Warning both children to stay away from the cellar steps, Mercy didn’t pause to grab a coat. She stuck her feet into boots and rushed out into the evening dusk. Glancing at the workshop where Jeremiah was unplugging the generator as fast as he could, she ran through the slushy snow and deep puddles beginning to ice over again. The cold should stop the flood.

  She put her foot against one side of the double doors and pulled the other. It moved with the protest of rusty hinges. She groaned when she saw another door at the base of the stairs. Water was seeping out, reaching the top of the first step even as she watched in shock.

  Hurrying to where Jeremiah pushed the generator across the yard while he balanced hoses over his shoulder, she told him about the door. “If we open it, we’ll get washed away.”

  “Look for a pump while I get the generator ready to go. You know what one looks like?”

  She nodded and ran toward the garage. Her grandfather had kept a small pump on a shelf when she was a kid. Was it still there?

  Finding it, her next question was if it worked. There was no way to find out without hooking it up. She handed it to Jeremiah. He deftly connected the pump to hoses and then to the generator. Yanking on the starter cord, he bent to push open one of the cellar windows. He shoved one hose inside, then started the pump.

  Water whooshed out, spraying them. He switched off the pump, grabbed the hose that had showered them with dirty water and tossed it in the direction of the road. When he restarted the pump, water erupted in a geyser again, but fell harmlessly into a snowbank.

  Once assured the pump was working, Mercy followed Jeremiah into the house. He told her he had enough gasoline to keep the generator running for the next twenty-four hours.

  “By then, the weather will probably have turned cold again.” He sighed. “I hope so, because if it stays this warm, the sap will run too fast and won’t be gut for syrup.”

  Throughout the evening, Jeremiah checked on the level of the water in the cellar. It didn’t begin to lower until it was time for the children to go to bed, unhappy they’d had cold sandwiches for supper.

  “Now you know how it is to live like the Amish do,” Jeremiah said with a chuckle as they started up the stairs.

  He got peeved looks in return, but, by the time they went upstairs, he’d brought kerosene lanterns from the tenant house and barn. Mercy helped Sunni and Paul brush their teeth, making sure they skimped on water. Until the well pump was running again, they had to conserve what was in the tank. Paul perked up, glad to skip his bath.

  Mercy was relieved when Sunni and Paul went to sleep quickly. She’d piled her grandfather’s crocheted afghans on top of their beds, hoping to keep them warm until morning. If it was too cold when she went upstairs, she’d carry them into her bed, where they would keep each other from freezing.

  When she came into the living room, she sat on the sofa where she’d been working what seemed like days ago. A kerosene lamp gave off more light than she’d expected. She picked up Paul’s pants. She’d gotten the patch sewn on one knee and needed to finish one on the other knee.

  “I don’t know how he can rip out the knees of his trousers when there’s a couple of feet of snow on the ground,” she said wryly.

  Jeremiah closed the woodworking supply catalog he’d been looking at and set it on the table beside the other end of the sofa. “The boy has a rare talent for such things.”

  “Another week is almost over.” Her needle darted in and out of the denim, jabbing with her frustration as she added, “And nothing has changed.”

  “I don’t want to talk about the farm and your family tonight.”

  “Neither do I, but the delay in getting an answer has been much on my mind, especially with the flooded cellar.”

  He gave her a cockeyed grin. “Me, too. That’s why I don’t want to talk about it. Why don’t we talk about something we haven’t talked about?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Rudy.” He shifted so he could look at her, leaving himself mostly in silhouette. “I never met the man, though everyone tells me about him. Everyone but you.”

  She frowned. “I talk about my grandfather all the time.”

  “Bits and pieces. Tell me about the Rudy you knew.”

  For a moment she was silent. Not because she wasn’t sure what to tell him. She wasn’t sure what to tell him first. So many memories were layered on top of each other, images as clear in her mind as the photo of her parents in Abuelita’s apartment.

  How could she explain to Jeremiah how important Grandpa Rudy had been to her? Not once had he made her feel like she was different from his other grandchildren. He didn’t care she’d had other parents before the Bambergers. She was his granddaughter, and that was all that mattered.

  “He loved to laugh,�
� she said. “Apparently, he was a prankster his whole life. Any tin can could contain a fake snake. Any glass could be a dribble one, and I quickly learned to look before I sat. He really loved whoopie cushions.”

  “He sounds like fun.”

  “He was, and what he liked was for someone to play a trick on him. I spent hours before each visit trying to come up with something to surprise him and make him laugh.”

  “And did you?”

  “I don’t know if I ever surprised him, but he always laughed. He found much joy in everything. He considered everything he could see and hear and touch a gift from God, and he was thankful every day of his life.” Lowering her mending to her lap, she gazed out the window toward the dark backyard. “He grew rows of rhubarb behind the house, though he was allergic to it. Touching it gave him hives, but he made sure the rhubarb grew every year and invited the neighbors to pick it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because his wife loved rhubarb, and he’d loved her. She died quite young, so I never met her.” She blinked back sudden tears. “I don’t think I’d ever been so proud than when he told me, though I looked like my mother, I reminded him of his late wife.” She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sorry. I know you Amish think pride is wrong.”

  “I think there are exceptions to everything, even hochmut. It sounds as if that compliment was one.” He reached across the cushion between them and took her hand. “Danki for sharing your love for Rudy with me, Mercy. I’ve known from the beginning how important the farm is to you, but I thought it was only because of your hope of helping kinder. I see you want the farm to be a tribute to your grossdawdi, who helped you find the family you thought you’d lost.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  When he didn’t reply immediately, she realized he was giving her the chance to consider his words. And she did. Was building the farm into something special important because it symbolized what she’d found after losing everything and everyone important to her?

  He shifted again, closer to her. She could see his intense expression. She dampened her lips, and his eyes followed the motion. Quickly, she looked down.

  His fingers beneath her chin brought her face up. She shivered as a powerful warmth sliced through her, radiating from where his fingertips touched her. When he tilted her mouth toward his, she wondered why she was fighting what she yearned for. His face, which was rough with a day’s growth of whiskers, brushed against her when he lightly kissed her right cheek.

  Her breath caught. Was another chaste kiss all he wanted? It was so sweet, but when he moved to kiss her other cheek, she caught his face between her palms. His eyes burned like the heart of a fire, sparks glinting through their shadowed depths.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered softly.

  “I am kissing you.”

  “Kiss my lips.”

  “I want that more than you can know, liebling.”

  The gentleness of his lips mesmerized her, and she deepened the kiss. When he started to lift his mouth away, she steered it back to hers.

  With a chuckle, he pulled her closer as he captured her lips again. His kiss was a delicious confirmation of the feelings she’d prayed he shared with her. She shouldn’t be falling in love with him, not when he wanted to take her farm from her, but she wouldn’t lie to herself or to him. Being in his arms was what she wanted right now and for the rest of...

  She drew back. When he arched a brow at her, she realized he knew the course of her thoughts. Were they similar to his own?

  Then she realized she didn’t care. Sliding her hands up to his shoulders, she leaned forward once more. This time when he kissed her, thoughts of pulling away vanished. For one special moment, the past and the future didn’t exist. Only now. The worries would return, but for now she wanted to relish his kisses.

  * * *

  “Danki,” Jeremiah said when Mercy slid another slice of French toast onto his plate. She’d started the gas stove with a match, enabling her to make them a warm breakfast.

  “You’re welcome.”

  That was the longest sentence she’d spoken to him since Paul had insisted Jeremiah join the rest of them for breakfast. Mercy was quiet, not teasing either Sunni or Paul. Was she thinking, as he was, of the kisses they’d shared last night? She hadn’t met his eyes since he came in.

  He understood too well. Sleep had been elusive last night. Lying awake, he’d stared at the water-stained ceiling in the tenant house. The shadows of bare branches had rocked in the moonlight as wind groaned beneath the eaves. He’d fallen asleep a couple of times, but something jerked him awake. Finally, he realized he wanted to avoid dreaming about having Mercy in his arms.

  It couldn’t happen again. Well, it easily could, but he needed to make sure it didn’t. Their kiss hadn’t changed anything. They remained rivals for the farm, and, more important, she wasn’t Amish.

  If she was willing to try...

  He didn’t allow the thought to form. He’d seen others try, drawn by what they saw as a bucolic life. Few of them lasted more than a couple of months. Though he had no doubts Mercy could do whatever she put her mind to, her yearning to build Come Along Farm and help city kids wouldn’t fit into an Amish life.

  Would they?

  He honestly didn’t know how strict the Ordnung would be for the settlement because they hadn’t begun discussing it yet. So far, each family was living by the rules established in their home district, and that served them well.

  “Can I have more?” Paul held his syrupy plate up for another piece, too.

  “You’ve got a hollow leg,” Jeremiah said with a chuckle.

  The joke fell flat when nobody else laughed.

  Though he knew the French toast must be delicious, it tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He ate and then waited while the kinder went into the other room to do their schoolwork.

  “Finished?” Mercy asked as she reached for his plate. She was stacking the dishes by the sink, planning to wash them once the electricity was on and the well pump was working again.

  “Ja.” He needed to build a solar setup to power the well pump so he didn’t have to be dependent on the grid. He could have his younger brother come up and put a couple panels on the roof. But first he needed to check if the rafters could support the weight.

  Telling Mercy why he was going up in the attic, he took the flashlight from the drawer and left the kitchen. Her urging to be careful with the weak floors sounded automatic. She said the same words each time one of the kinder went upstairs alone.

  Floorboards creaked as Jeremiah crossed the second floor to get to the attic door. When he opened it, he heard water dripping. He wasn’t surprised there were holes in the roof. Everything about the house needed repairs.

  He switched on the flashlight and aimed it at the rafters. He didn’t need to test the rafters with a nail to see if there was dry rot. Several of them were bowing and one was broken. It’d dropped across the attic, crushing boxes stored there.

  A scan of the boxes showed him that the contents had probably been ruined before the rafter collapsed. He calculated what the cost of replacing the broken rafter would be. Once it was in place, the other rafters should straighten. The roof could then support two solar panels.

  As he started toward the stairs, the flashlight’s beam flickered on a box set off by itself. It was on its side, and he guessed it had been pushed aside when the rafter broke. He froze as the light showcased the words: Personal items of Mercedes Ramirez.

  He picked up the box, shifting it carefully so he didn’t break anything in it. Or anything else, he realized when he heard the tinkle of broken glass.

  Closing the attic door behind him, he took care as he crossed the creaking second floor. He rushed into the kitchen.

  Mercy looked over her shoulder, and her eyes widened. “What do you have there?”

  “Something you
’ve been looking for.”

  She put the measuring cup she held on the counter. When he set the box on the table, he turned it so she could see the words.

  She gasped and pressed her fingers to her lips. “Mercedes Ramirez? This box has to be from before I was adopted.”

  “My guess is it’s from when you first were put into the state’s care.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  He answered her question with a question. “Remember what you said last night?”

  Her flush deepened, and he knew she was blushing at the thought of what had been said with words and kisses.

  Tapping her cheek, he said, “This is charming.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply as he went on, “I remember how you said Rudy told you that while you resembled your grossmammi in temperament, you looked like your mamm.”

  “He mentioned that several times through the years.”

  “Don’t you see what it means, Mercy? Rudy saw your mamm, and the only way he could have done that was by seeing the photo of your parents. The one you remember from when you were a kid.” He patted the box. “It could be in here. Can I open it?”

  She nodded, her teeth clamped on her lower lip.

  Unfolding the flaps, he lifted out the topmost item. A stuffed rabbit made like a crazy quilt in the brightest colors he could imagine.

  Mercy took it carefully. “I remember this. Abuelita made it for me for my fifth birthday.” She touched the ears, which once had been a brilliant white and now were a sad and stained brown. “What’s it doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” He picked up a kind’s heavily embroidered dress. “Do you recognize this?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Abuelita made matching ones for me and her for a block party when I was six or seven. She said it would give her practice for when she made my Quinceañera gown when I turned fifteen.”

  “What kind of gown?”

  Running her fingers along the flowers and birds stitched into the small dress, she said, “It’s a Hispanic custom for a girl’s fifteenth birthday. There’s a big party, and she dresses like a princess in the fanciest dress you can imagine. Of course, I never had a Quinceañera because, by the time I was fifteen, I was living a Mennonite life.”