An Amish Arrangement

by Jo Ann Brown

  A motion in the yard caught her eyes. Jeremiah strode toward the house, and she was relieved he was going to be with her when she spoke to Whitney about Paul’s future.

  “Brrr,” said the blonde as she unzipped her coat. “I don’t think this winter is ever going to end.”

  “It seems that way.”

  “Hi, Jeremiah. Good to see you again.” She pulled off her coat and looked around. “Where are the children?”

  “Upstairs.” Mercy took a step toward the staircase. “I can get them.”

  “No!” The social worker’s voice was startlingly sharp. “I need to speak to you without the children first.”

  Mercy motioned for them to come into the kitchen. What was bothering Whitney? The blonde was usually calm, even when Paul snarled at her.

  Jeremiah’s brows lowered, a sure sign he was puzzled by Whitney’s odd behavior, too. He sat at the head of the table, but didn’t say anything.

  “Want coffee, Whitney?” she asked, reaching for the pot.

  “No, thank you.” Putting her briefcase on the chair, Whitney stood behind it. “I think what I have to say is best said quickly.”

  “What’s wrong?” She couldn’t keep from glancing at Jeremiah, who was watching the social worker.

  “The Kentons have been in contact with us for the past two weeks. Their social worker has spent time with them. She believes they’re sincere in wanting their son returned to them.”

  Mercy stared at Whitney, sure she’d heard her wrong. Somehow, she pushed out a question. “They want him back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can they do that?” Mercy answered her own question before the social worker could. “I mean, I know they can ask, but why are you agreeing?”

  “Parker—”

  Jeremiah said with quiet dignity, “He calls himself Paul now.”

  “I know, but the Kentons still want to call him Parker.” Whitney sighed. “I’ll let them know again that he prefers the other name. Mercy, Jeremiah, I know you’re attached to the boy, but he was with the Kentons for more than six months, and, though they were overwhelmed and needed a break, they’ve put together a support network they—and we—think will make the placement a success.”

  “Does he have input into the decision?” Jeremiah asked.

  “He’s a child.” She cut her eyes to Mercy. “You know children aren’t in any position to judge what’s best for them in the long run.”

  Mercy lowered herself to a chair and clasped her hands in her lap. “I know the hurt jerking a child around can create. I had two placements before I came to the Bambergers, and I was a very angry child who didn’t trust anyone.” She stared at the table crisscrossed with nicks and gouges, the sign of long use. “If it hadn’t been for Grandpa Rudy, I don’t know if I ever would have trusted again.”

  When Jeremiah’s hand covered hers, she knew he was offering what comfort he could.

  “I understand,” Whitney said as she looked from Mercy to Jeremiah.

  “So do I,” Mercy replied with a sigh.

  Jeremiah erupted from his chair. “And that’s it? You aren’t going to give us time to say goodbye?”

  “Of course you’ll have time.” Whitney sighed. “I’m not heartless, but I’ve got to think what’s best for him.”

  “Staying here is best for him.” Jeremiah’s scowl deepened.

  Mercy put her hand on Jeremiah’s arm. She’d never seen him so furious and knew he was fighting to keep his temper under control. “Getting angry won’t help.”

  “So you’re going to let him go?” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”

  “Please don’t make it harder,” she said.

  “I don’t know how it could be.” Hurt blazed in his eyes as they locked with Mercy’s. “Why can’t he stay here with Mercy so she can adopt him?”

  “We have a two-parent family who wants him,” Whitney replied. “Our first choice for a child is always to have two parents.”

  “But they didn’t want him, and Mercy does.”

  Knowing it was Jeremiah’s grief speaking, Mercy interjected, “Whitney, will you excuse us?”

  “I’ll wait in the living room.” She glanced at her watch. “I can give you twenty minutes. No more.”

  Once the social worker left the kitchen, Jeremiah came around the table so he stood beside Mercy. “I love that boy. I don’t want to lose him.”

  “I know. I love him, too, but he has a chance for a home with two parents who love him.”

  “Two parents who tossed him aside like an unwanted puppy.”

  Wondering how she could reach through his hurt to help him understand, she knew the only way was to be honest. “Jeremiah, I don’t like this any more than you do, but—”

  “What if they decide they don’t want him again?” He flung out his hands. “Will they throw him away again?”

  “We have to pray they won’t.”

  His shoulders dropped, and she knew she’d finally gotten him to understand. Paul’s life, like theirs, was in God’s hand. They had to trust God would watch over the boy.

  Going to the base of the stairs, she shouted for the children. She frowned when she got no response. Paul... She’d just gotten used to calling him that, and now she had to remember to address him as Parker. He might refuse to answer her, but Sunni always came when Mercy called.

  “Are you up here?” she tried again.

  She heard Whitney coming from the living room and Jeremiah from the kitchen, but she ran up the stairs. Why weren’t the children answering?

  * * *

  Jeremiah exchanged a glance with Whitney as Mercy’s voice drifted to them. Before he could speak, Mercy rushed down the stairs. Her face was a sick shade.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Sunni and Parker have disappeared.” She looked at the shocked social worker. “They aren’t here.”

  “Let me find them,” he said. “They couldn’t have gone far.”

  “If they heard us...” Whitney choked out.

  Shoving his black hat on his head, he ran out of the house. Ten minutes later he’d searched the outbuildings and the tenant house. Fruitlessly.

  Mercy was waiting on the porch when he returned to the house. “Whitney wants to call the police.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’ll get our neighbors to help find them.”

  The social worker opened the door. “No, Jeremiah. The boy is my responsibility. We have to call the police before he runs away too far.”

  “We don’t know if they’ve run away. They may have slipped out before you got here. I’m going to check with the neighbors. Someone must have seen them.”

  Whitney started to protest, but Mercy silenced her by touching her arm.

  “Let Jeremiah try. Give him an hour.”

  “Two,” he insisted. “That’s enough time to check every place along the creek.”

  “Give him two hours,” Mercy pleaded. “If the kids see policemen, they may hide instead of coming out of wherever they are.”

  “An hour. No longer, and it’s against my better judgment.” Whitney wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m risking my job on this.”

  “We know, and we appreciate it.” Mercy kept talking to the blonde as she steered Whitney into the house. Looking back before she closed the door, she mouthed, “Find them. Fast.”

  Jeremiah loped along the drive and toward Caleb’s farm. As the word spread through the hollow, more and more people joined the hunt for the kinder. He asked everyone to check their own outbuildings and then the woods on both sides of the creek. He hoped Sunni and Paul hadn’t tried to cross it because the ice was no longer thick enough to hold them.

  Time sped past too fast. Ever conscious of how little time they had to search so many acres and buildings, his hope the youngsters could be f
ound before the police were called began to fade. Leaving Caleb to direct the search as the hour elapsed, Jeremiah hurried to where Mercy and the social worker waited.

  Whitney was on her cell phone as he came in. When Mercy looked at him, he shook his head, sick at heart for failing her. She’d trusted him, and he’d let her down. He thought of what Sunni had told him about Mercy’s ex-fiancé not being there for her. He hadn’t wanted to do the same.

  She offered him a cup of cocoa, and he took it gratefully. His toes felt like a quintet of frozen blocks of ice in each of his boots. As he raised the cup to his lips, a motion outside caught his eye.

  Smoke coming from the sap house? He hadn’t left a fire in there after he finished the latest batch of maple syrup.

  “Mercy, I think I know where they are.”

  “Where?” asked both women at the same time.

  He pointed out the window toward the sap house. Setting down his untasted cocoa, he grabbed Mercy’s coat and thrust it into her hands. She was pulling it on as she followed him out of the house. Behind them, Whitney yelled for them to wait up. They kept going.

  The ice sent Mercy skidding into him. He grabbed her hand as they climbed the hill to the small building.

  When he threw open the door, heat struck his face. He stepped inside and called, “Komm out! I know you’re in here.”

  Sunni peeked around the side of the evaporator. “Jeremiah!” Looking back, she motioned. “It’s okay, Paul. Jeremiah will make it okay.”

  * * *

  Mercy saw the pain on Jeremiah’s face and knew he wished desperately Sunni was right. She stepped into the sap house, but halted Whitney from pushing past her.

  “Let us talk to them,” she said, “while you call the police and let them know the kids have been found.”

  For a second she thought the social worker would insist, but then Whitney nodded. “I’ll meet you at the house in ten minutes.”

  “It may take a bit longer.”

  “I can’t give you more time, Mercy. We’re already late meeting the Kentons.”

  Nodding, Mercy headed for the far end of the sap house. She doubted her feet touched the floor more than twice as she bounded forward to sweep the children into her arms. Sunni clung to her, and Parker did, too. When Jeremiah put his arms around them, they stood in silence for the length of two heartbeats.

  Sunni and Parker began explaining how they’d started a fire beneath the evaporator to stay warm.

  “While we waited for that woman to go away.” Parker shivered.

  Mercy put her arm around him and gave him a comforting squeeze, knowing he wasn’t cold, but scared. When Jeremiah drew the boy away and bent so his eyes were even with Parker’s, she draped her arms over her daughter, clasping her hands in front of Sunni.

  “If we hid, that lady couldn’t take Paul away,” her daughter said.

  “Whitney wants the best for him,” Jeremiah said.

  “We’re the best for him.” Her daughter looked up at her. “Isn’t that right, Mommy?”

  “She wants to take me back to people who don’t want me,” the little boy insisted. “I don’t want to go!”

  “Would you try spending a weekend with the Kentons?” Mercy asked.

  The boy and the man wore identical expressions of dismay, but understanding lit Jeremiah’s eyes and he nodded.

  “Just a weekend?” Parker asked, suspiciously.

  “Yes, for now. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think it’ll be.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know you won’t be going alone,” she said softly as she reached out to take the boy’s right hand. “God will be with you whether you are here or somewhere else.”

  “I know.” He looked at Jeremiah, who took his other hand. “I can lay my bad feelings at His feet, and He’ll sweep them away with His toes.”

  Mercy didn’t try to restrain her smile. “That’s right. You’re a smart boy to figure that out.”

  “I didn’t figure it out. Jeremiah told me.”

  Jeremiah winked at him. “I’m glad you listened. I need to go and let the searchers know the kids have been found. I’ll meet you at the house, okay? I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

  Mercy nodded, knowing he hoped Parker would be there when he returned. She smiled. She wasn’t sure how, but she’d find a way to persuade Whitney to wait.

  Her concerns were needless because when she and the children entered the house, Whitney took her aside and said the Kentons had called and arranged to meet Parker the next afternoon.

  “So he can stay here until then?” Mercy asked.

  “If you make sure he’s here when I come back.”

  “I’ll do my best. I won’t let either of them out of my sight until then.”

  Parker stared, openmouthed, when Whitney said he could stay overnight. He stammered out his thanks as Sunni squealed with excitement.

  “Why are you sounding like a pig?” Parker asked. “Is it because you look like one?”

  “Mommy!” cried Sunni. “Tell him I’m not a pig.”

  Knowing the kids’ temporary truce was broken, Mercy herded them into the kitchen and sat them at the table once Whitney left. But she couldn’t keep from smiling as they bickered. Even that annoying sound was precious while she spent these last hours with Parker.

  Somehow, she managed to keep her tears hidden and her voice cheerful while they had supper and she tucked the children into bed. She kissed their freshly washed faces and wished them pleasant dreams. As she went down the stairs, she heard hushed voices and footsteps. She looked back to discover Sunni sneaking into Parker’s room. She suspected when she checked later, she’d find them curled together like the litter of kittens in the barn.

  Jeremiah was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Crooking a finger, he walked into the living room. She caught up with him and put her arms around him, leaning her face against his strong back.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for finding them.”

  Facing her, he said, “I’ve been thinking, Mercy. Whitney said a two-parent family is always the best choice for a kind. Do you know Sunni believes you agreed to marry Graham because you wanted her to have a daed?”

  “No.” Shock raced through her. “I didn’t know she knew that.”

  “So you were marrying him to give her a daed?”

  “It’s embarrassing to admit, but it’s partly true. I did think I loved Graham.”

  He took her hands and led her to the sofa. Sitting beside her, he asked, “You thought you loved him?”

  “Yes, until I realized what love really is. You taught me that.”

  “As you’ve taught me.” He brushed his lips against hers. “I need to ask you something. Would you consider staying here on the farm as my wife?”

  “So we can try to adopt Parker if things don’t work out with the Kentons?”

  “In part, but I’m asking because I love you and I can’t endure the thought of losing you.” He smoothed loose strands from her face. “I thought I couldn’t hurt worse than when the woman I loved jumped the fence and married an Englischer. But the idea of being without you is torture. Marry me, Mercy.”

  “Does that mean you’re willing to become a Mennonite?”

  “I’d hoped you would consider being baptized Amish, Mercy. You’ve seen how we live, and you seem comfortable with it.”

  She wasn’t surprised at his request. And he was right. During the days when they were without electricity, she’d learned to manage the household and keep them fed. “I want to tell you yes, but I told God I’d repay the kindnesses done to me when I was little. Won’t that be impossible if I became Amish?”

  “I don’t know, but I can present your idea for Come Along Farm to our bishop.”

  “But what about your plans for the farm?”

  “We’
re two smart people. I’m sure we can figure out a way to make both our dreams come true on this farm.”

  “Assuming the bishop is okay with it?”

  “Ja. I must get his opinion if it’s permissible for an Amish woman to oversee a summer camp.”

  “Do you think he’ll agree?” she asked as her heart danced within her.

  “I don’t know Wayne well enough to be sure, but I know he’ll listen and pray for guidance.”

  “I have information I’d put together earlier, if you want to give it to him.”

  “Let’s pray there will be an easy way to resolve this. If Wayne says he’s okay with your plans for a summer program, we can—”

  Her finger against his lips halted him. “One problem at a time, Jeremiah.”

  “I don’t consider getting you to agree to marry me a problem.” Folding her hands between his, he asked, “If we can work this out, will you marry me?”

  She gave him her answer with a kiss that told him far better than words how much she loved him and wanted to be his wife.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The candles had been blown out, and the chocolate cake was gone except for a few crumbs on the platter. Outside the cozy kitchen, a chilly October wind whistled at the eaves.

  As Mercy looked around the kitchen, she had to smile. The house didn’t look different, but in the past months, it had gone through as many changes as she had. Wayne Flaud had been hesitant about Mercy being baptized. He refused to start baptism classes with her until she lived a full Amish life for six months.

  She’d agreed and, with Jeremiah’s assistance as well as her neighbors’, complied. She attended baptism classes with the bishop, a process that took longer than usual because of the distances involved. Instead of meeting weekly with him, they met twice a month when he came to join the Leit for services.

  And last month, at her final session with the bishop, whom she discovered wasn’t as rigid and imposing as his appearance had suggested, Wayne had told her after hours of prayer and long correspondence with other bishops, he couldn’t see how it would be a problem for her to bring in Fresh Air kids for two weeks each summer. It was, he told her, no different from Amish families who took in Englischers in a farm-stay bed-and-breakfast for them to discover what an Amish farm was like. She’d wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him, but she’d simply said, “Danki, Wayne.”