An Amish Arrangement

by Jo Ann Brown

  He dug a couple of damp picture books out of the box, but they fell apart in his hands. With care, he reached for the final item in the box. It was surrounded by shards of glass. He lifted it out and discovered it was a picture encased in a cheap metal frame. The glass that once had been inserted in it was broken.

  Handing it to Mercy, he said nothing.

  She stared at the picture that was black with mold. Half of it had been gnawed away. Whoever or whatever was depicted in it had become an indistinct blur.

  “Maybe it’s not the right picture,” Jeremiah said softly. “Maybe we can find the picture of your parents somewhere else upstairs.”

  “It’s the right one.” She cradled the ruined picture as if it were a boppli. “Look! You can make out the word ‘Lincoln’ on the bottom. Lincoln Photography is where the picture was taken.”

  “I’m sorry, Mercy. I wish we could have found it before damp and mice got to it.”

  Lowering the frame to her lap, she touched her chest right over her heart. “I keep my birth parents right here. Nothing’s ever changed about that.”

  When tears flooded along her cheeks, he started to apologize.

  “Thank you, Jeremiah,” she said. “You’ve cleared up a mystery that’s bothered me for years.”

  “I wonder why it was here.”

  “I don’t know, but knowing the picture wasn’t thrown away is a weight off my heart.” She reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw.

  When she guided his mouth to hers, he could think of a dozen different reasons he shouldn’t kiss her. He could think of only one reason why he should. He loved her. Later he would think of the complications. Now he savored the sweet caress of her lips.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jeremiah drew in a deep breath of the moist air in the sap house the next morning. The small outbuilding was barely large enough for the evaporator, the stack of wood that heated it and shelves where he’d put empty bottles and his tools. It took several hours every other day to cook the sap into syrup because he was making small batches. The sap needed to go past water’s boiling point by ten degrees before it started to cook into golden maple syrup. Once it did, he filled bottles and set them on a shelf to cool.

  Bending, he checked the fire under the evaporator. He shoved a couple more pieces of split wood in so the heat stayed steady. If he stayed on the farm, he would like to tap more trees. He could buy a gas-powered evaporator and make enough syrup to sell at the farmer’s market in Salem. Several of the other families were already planning to set up tables once spring came, selling everything from freshly made bread to goat milk soap to eggs and dried herbs.

  If Mercy’s family decided to sell him the farm. If they didn’t increase the price beyond what he could afford. If he was able to make a success of the property.

  Why was it easier to think about the farm than Mercy’s eager response to his kisses? Each time the memories tried to assert themselves, he silenced them. They were a reminder of how witless he was. He’d known right from the beginning Mercy was Mennonite. She’d invited him to her church and hadn’t hid how much she hoped he’d consider being baptized as a Mennonite. The picture of her family, though it’d been ruined, was another indication she was definitely Englisch.

  God, how have I failed to see I’m making the same mistake again? Show me a way to fix this without ruining everything.

  He snorted. What made him think God was going to bail him out of this predicament? Jeremiah had gone in with his eyes open, but should have kept his heart closed. He had to find the words to tell Mercy though she was wunderbaar in his arms, he was committed to helping the Amish community.

  For what purpose? That vexing voice was back, demanding he be honest with himself. What purpose do you have for building a home in Harmony Creek if you’re not going to share it with the woman you love?

  “Jeremiah?”

  He looked up, startled to discover Sunni standing in the sap house’s doorway. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t heard the door open.

  The little girl was bundled up in her winter coat and snow pants and boots. Her steps were stiff as she came in. Her motions reminded him instantly of Mercy’s when she was nervous.

  He wanted to put the kind at ease, but he couldn’t when he didn’t know why Sunni was there. Apparently alone, because she closed the door behind her.

  “Hi, Sunni!” he said with a smile.

  The little girl was adorable in her winter clothes that left only her nose and dark eyes visible between her scarf and the hood of her coat. She looked as round as she was tall. When she pulled her scarf off, she wore the most somber expression he’d ever seen on her young face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded as she edged around the evaporator, gazing up at the steam rising into the vent and outside.

  “Do you want something?” A stupid question. She wouldn’t have taken the long walk from the house unless she had a reason.

  He pulled a bench from beneath the shelves and motioned for her to take a seat.

  She did as she loosened her coat and pulled off her mittens, shoving them into her pockets.

  “Is the syrup done?” she asked.

  “Another fifteen minutes should do it.” He squatted in front of her. “Sunni, you look like a gal with something on your mind. Why don’t you spit it out?”

  Opening her mouth, she hastily closed it.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “the most difficult words are the first ones. Push them out, and the others will follow.”

  Sunni swallowed hard. “Do you like my mommy?”

  “Ja. Your mamm is a nice person. I think everyone around here likes her.”

  The little girl shifted to perch on the very edge of the bench. “I don’t mean that kind of like. I mean do you like her?”

  “Ah...” He understood what the child was asking, but he also knew whatever he said might be repeated to Mercy once Sunni returned to the farmhouse. “I think that topic should be discussed by your mamm and me. Don’t you think so?”

  Sunni slowly nodded.

  “Gut.” He came to his feet. “Do you want to stay until the syrup is ready?”

  “Will you promise me one thing?” she asked instead of answering his question.

  “Amish don’t make promises. We trust our word is as gut as a promise.”

  She stared at him, baffled. Her lips moved as she repeated his words as she tried to make sense of them. The moment when she got the meaning was obvious because the lines threading her forehead vanished.

  “All right. I believe you,” she said.

  “Danki.” He was amused by her stern composure. It wouldn’t have been out of place for a bishop. “What did you want to ask me?”

  “Please don’t hurt my mommy.”

  He flinched at the words the kind spoke with a yearning from the little girl’s heart. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do, Sunni. Your mamm is a kind and generous woman, and I admire how hard she works.”

  “I know Mommy is kind, but I don’t want you to hurt her.”

  “How do you think I’d hurt her? By buying the farm?”

  Sunni shook her head. “Not that. I don’t want you to hurt her like Graham did. He said he loved her and asked her to marry him. I’d hoped she’d say no, but she said yes, and then he made her cry and cry when he always did what his mother wanted. Not just once, but a lot of times because his mother didn’t like Mommy. That old lady was mean to Mommy and to me.”

  He realized the little girl was speaking of Mercy’s former boyfriend. No, Graham actually had been her fiancé. Had he missed that fact, or had she failed to mention it? Not that it mattered. From Sunni’s sorrowful words, it was clear whatever had been between Mercy and Graham was over. All that remained was a little girl determined to protect her mamm.

  He
folded Sunni’s small hands between his much larger ones and held her gaze. “I don’t ever intend to hurt your mamm. I don’t want to see her cry, either.”

  She regarded him dubiously. “Graham said that, too. More than once I heard him say that, but then Mommy cried over and over again for months. She tried to make it work because she thinks I need a daddy.”

  “What do you think?”

  Again, the little girl took time to ponder before she answered. He wondered if she’d always been such a deep-thinking kind, or if her experiences in leaving Korea and coming to a new family only to have them discard her had made her question every aspect of everything around her. In so many ways, she seemed too old for such a young kind.

  “I thought our family was perfect. Me and Mommy and Grandma and Grandpa and the rest of the family.”

  “Especially Grandpa Rudy?”

  “Uh-huh.” Sunni’s eyes grew luminous with tears, and he realized he’d never given thought to how the old man’s death had affected this little girl. “When Mommy told me she was going to marry Graham and he’d be my new daddy, I tried to be happy, but I didn’t like him.”

  “For the same reason you didn’t like me at first?”

  “No, I didn’t like him. I didn’t know then how someone could be so mean and make my mommy cry. I know that now.”

  Jeremiah sought words to soothe the kind’s pain, but anything he could come up with seemed trite. He wondered if Mercy knew how badly her broken engagement had both relieved and hurt her daughter.

  Sunni didn’t seem to notice he hadn’t answered. “But then Paul came along, and he’s part of our family.” Her mouth twisted. “Lots of the time, I don’t like him, especially when he says bad things about me or Mommy, but I could get used to him being my brother.” She sighed. “So many people come and go. I think that’s what makes Mommy sad. It makes me sad, too, when people can’t stay.” Again, she sounded far older than her few years, but her voice cracked when she added, “Especially people like you, Jeremiah.”

  She jumped to her feet and left the sap house, the door slamming in her wake.

  He wanted to give chase, but he couldn’t leave the evaporator. Or maybe that was an excuse, because what could he have said to the little girl?

  He stared at the evaporator as an unexpected thought burst into his head. Should he leave the Amish before being baptized? Could he? Until he’d met Mercy, he’d never considered he’d ever make such a choice.

  He laughed at the irony. When Emmarita had jumped the fence, he’d assumed it’d been a rash decision made to please her Englischer. Maybe it had been, but as he wrestled with the choice himself, he suspected she hadn’t left her family and friends behind easily.

  Or him.

  It’s long past time to forgive her. The whisper of his conscience seemed loud in the quiet. He forgave her as he comprehended what Emmarita had faced as she made her decision to leave. He knew, as he hadn’t before, the choice hadn’t been easy for her.

  But Emmarita had made her choice. He now must, too.

  * * *

  Mercy picked her way through the icy patches on her way to the mailbox. She’d be so glad when spring arrived, and the last of the snow was gone. An electrician had fixed the circuit breaker box and gotten the furnace started so they had light and heat in the house. Even so, the generator sat nearby, ready to pump out water if it seeped into the cellar again. The next time she spoke with her father, she would ask him if he knew of a way to seal the rock foundation to keep water out.

  She opened the metal mailbox that still had Rudy’s name on the side. Pulling out the stack of mail inside, she smiled when she saw a folded copy of the latest edition of The Budget. She looked at the index on the left side, and her smile broadened when she saw a listing for the Mennonite church they used to attend. Sunni enjoyed hearing news from there because sometimes her friends’ names were mentioned by the correspondent. When Paul was at his worst and made fun of the names or what her friends were doing, Sunni ignored him.

  That was the only time.

  With a sigh, Mercy closed the box. She’d hoped by now the two children would have gotten over their obvious distaste for each other. Should she say something to Whitney? Disrupting Paul with another placement wouldn’t help him, but Mercy didn’t like her daughter being the target of his cruel teasing. Sunni was too young to understand why Paul was acting out, and Mercy was running out of ideas for how to bridge the gap between the two of them.

  Riffling through the envelopes, she halted and stared at the return address on the bottommost one. Tucking the newspaper under her arm and the rest of the mail in her coat pocket, she ran up the slushy driveway. Mud splashed on the hem of her coat and her dress as she sped across the yard, hitting many of the puddles hidden beneath the grass that had been matted by the winter’s heavy snow.

  Pausing at the door of Jeremiah’s shop, she peered inside. It was empty. Where was he? His buggy was in the yard, and it was too early to start the milking.

  Mercy heard a thud, then a crack. He must be splitting wood on the far side of the house for use in making the last of the maple syrup. He mentioned at breakfast the wood box was empty. As she rounded the porch, she saw him with his ax raised before he brought it down in a quick, smooth arc. The blade cut into the chunk of wood on top of a stump. Two pieces of wood tumbled to the ground.

  As he bent to pick them up, he must have seen her, because he halted and called a greeting.

  She didn’t slow until she reached where he stood. Her face must have revealed her thoughts, because he asked what was wrong. She tried to answer, but had to take a moment to regain her breath. He waited with more patience than she would have if their situations were reversed.

  Holding out the letter, she said, “It’s from my family’s lawyer.” Her voice cracked in spite of her efforts to hide her trepidation.

  “What does it say?”

  “I don’t know. It’s addressed to you.”

  When he set aside the ax, leaning it against the woodpile, he took the envelope. He pulled off one work glove, then the other before he took a knife out of his pocket and slit the top of the envelope open.

  She held her breath as he drew out a single sheet of paper. She couldn’t guess if such a short missive was good news for her or bad.

  He read it fast, then read it again.

  “What does it say?” she asked as he had.

  He swallowed hard. “Your family has come to a consensus about the future of the farm.”

  “They’ve decided to sell it to you, haven’t they?” She didn’t know why she’d bothered to make it a question. His hesitation had told her the truth.

  “I think maybe, but I’m not sure with the fancy lawyer language. Why don’t you read it and tell me what you think?”

  She took the letter and had to puzzle through the meaning of a couple of the long, elaborate sentences. The beginning of one seemed to contradict its ending, but she understood enough to know why the letter had been addressed to him. Her father and his siblings intended to honor the purchase contract Jeremiah had signed.

  “Congratulations, Jeremiah,” she said as she returned the letter. She wished she could show more enthusiasm, but how could she when she was numb? “It’s okay. You can celebrate if you want.”

  “How can I celebrate when I know what this decision means to you and the summer camp you wanted to have for city kinder?” He folded the letter and put it in the envelope.

  “You’re going to make your dream of having your own farm come true, Jeremiah. I’m happy for you.” She blinked on hot tears. “Despite what I may look like, I’m happy for you.”

  “You look lovely.”

  “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”

  “I know, but I wanted to give you one I should have said long ago.” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “What will you do?”

>   “I want to build a summer camp for city kids.” Her gaze swept the place that soon wouldn’t be her home. “It’ll have to be somewhere else. I owe a great debt to the people who run the Fresh Air program. It’s my mission. I know you may not understand because Amish don’t do mission work.”

  “Some do.”

  “Not many.”

  He sighed. “You’re right. Not many do.”

  “You probably want to tell Caleb you’ll be staying here.” She took a step back. “I need to check on the kids.” Her breath caught sharply. “Paul!”

  “Won’t Whitney let him stay with you?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice broke as she added, “I don’t know about anything.” She raised her chin. “Congratulations, Jeremiah. I know Grandpa Rudy would be thrilled to know the plans he made with you are going to work out.”

  Turning on her heel, she raced around the side of the house. She heard Jeremiah call after her, but she didn’t slow. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend she was okay with her best chance to make her dream come true being dashed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Putting the last dish in the cupboard, Mercy draped the damp dish towel over the rod hanging off a cabinet. She glanced at the clock. She’d finished exactly two minutes before Whitney was supposed to arrive. Yesterday, after the letter came from the family’s lawyer, Mercy had called the social worker and explained what had happened.

  “Don’t worry, Mercy,” she’d said. “Things can be worked out in situations like this.”

  Mercy had prayed Whitney was right. She’d planned on talking to the social worker on her next visit about when Paul would be free to be adopted. She wanted to get her name at the top of the list of potential adoptive parents.

  The crunch of tires on frozen mud in the driveway announced the social worker was punctual as always. Opening the side door, Mercy motioned for Whitney to hurry in. The day was as cold as if the thaw had never happened.