“I like sweet foods and tangy things—not so much the hot ones.” Mercy stacked the empty pie tins. “I hope a little of your flan is left. The men praised it lavishly.”
“A few grunts are lavish praise?” Ismelda shook her head. “Such a strange custom.”
“Be sure I am very thankful for all your hard work.” After the dishes were all washed, dried, and put away, Mercy pressed a small cloth bag into Carmen’s hand. “Molasses cookies.”
“Oh, you know how I love them!”
Ismelda gave her a hug. “Thank you, Mercy, for letting everyone know that we’re still friends. I know you truly wish Otto and me every happiness.”
“I do.” Mercy stared down at the grimy hem of her apron. “You saw today—the other women didn’t come. I will not blame you if—”
“Nonsense!” Carmen gave her a stormy look. “You’re my friend. Nothing will change that.”
“Exactly.” Ismelda grinned. “Now will you write down the recipe for that cucumber salad?”
Mercy obligingly did so. By late afternoon, the chugging of the M. Rumley steam thresher stopped. Not long after, all the men left. Those whose wives sent food came to the back veranda to fetch the dishes, and Mercy had all of the dishes lined up there for them—each with a small bag of molasses cookies to show her thanks.
There were enough leftovers for her to feed Grossvater and Peter supper. Mercy didn’t have much of an appetite. She went to bed and curled up, feeling horribly alone. Always in the past, threshing was a day of joy—thankfulness to God for a good harvest mingled with the merry visiting of neighbors. But God let that man hurt me, and the women who are my sisters in Christ have turned their backs on me.
Sleep wouldn’t come.
The sky was still violet. Soon, the rooster would be crowing the sun up. Mercy lay in bed and stared at her bedside table. A thin layer of dust covered her Bible. She hadn’t read the Word for weeks now. Setting aside quiet time for devotions was too hard. The minute she ceased doing chores she started drowning in a sea of feelings.
Deciding what to make for breakfast, she shoved off the sheet. It was far too hot to use blankets. Suddenly, she froze. Lying still, she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. A few minutes later, it happened again—an infinitesimal fluttering low in her tummy. Light as butterfly wings, the sensation came and left again.
The baby?
Mercy slid her hand down the soft-from-a-hundred-washings cotton nightgown. Resting her palm where she’d experienced the sensation, she waited. And waited. And waited.
Is that you?
“Hello, Dr. Gregor! Welcome! You’re just in time—the men are coming in for lunch.”
Rob didn’t dismount immediately. “I was concerned about you, Mrs. Kunstler. My brothers said Otto mentioned you were feeling puirly.”
“I’m hale as a horse. I don’t know where—” She halted abruptly as color rushed to her cheeks.
Crossing his hands on the saddle’s pommel, he looked across the table. “Mrs. Grun, I’m glad to see the terrible sprain you had yesterday has healed so swiftly. You’re walking without any difficulty. Mrs. Voran, Mrs. Stucky—I’m gratified to see your children are bounding around so easily. I was made to understand they were ailing yesterday, as well.”
Mrs. Kunstler bustled past him and waved the men over. “Come. Yes, come now. Dinner is ready. There is plenty!”
Chris yelled, “Rob, what are you doing here?”
Rob shrugged. “A whole lot of nothing, much to my surprise. Just yesterday, you said many of the women or children were sick. I’m delighted to report everyone’s in the very pink of health.”
Rob joined the men at the washstands, then ate with them. As he rose, he said, “What a grand meal this was. I’ve never seen men eat half as much. You women—all of you women—worked hard to keep sufficient food on the table.”
“We all help one another,” Jakob Lintz said.
“Ahh. So that’s it.” Rob nodded his head sagely. “None of the ladies went to help at the Stein’s threshing yesterday. I’m supposing ’twas because none of us Gregors thought to pledge that one or two of us would work the threshing on the Stein’s behalf.” He let out a big sigh. “I’m relieved. Aye, I surely am. I should have known better than to worry as I did.”
“Worry?” someone asked.
“Aye. I’m ashamed to confess I worried mayhap something else was behind puir wee Mercy working her fingers to the bone. Now I see ’twasna a case of anyone reviling the lass. Glad I am of it, too. She’s but an innocent lamb, hurt in the verra worst way by a godless beast of a man. She and the babe—I’m glad to know you’ll all be thinkin’ kindly of them and extending Christian charity toward them through the coming months and years.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Rob.” Duncan stood and scanned the young women who stood around the edge of the yard, their hands full of empty pie plates. “I’m betting not a man here hasna given thought to the fact that it could have been his daughter or granddaughter who fell victim to such a tragedy. Connant told us this community was strong in the Lord. ’Twas our fault—the Gregors should have pledged to you all that we’d represent the Steins. From now on, you can count on us.”
“Aye, that you can.” Chris slapped a straw hat on his head. “Now I’m getting back to work ere I yield to the temptation to take a nap after all that food.”
Rob rode over to the Steins’. Mercy was in the garden wielding a hoe. Rob dismounted and chuckled. “I canna help wonderin’ whether you’re merely killin’ that weed or if you’re trying to send it clear down to the devil himself this verra minute!”
“I’d gladly send him and all his brothers.”
“This is a lovely garden patch. You must have quite a fondness for sweet corn.”
“We all do.” Mercy surveyed the long rows of corn. Suddenly her eyes went wide and her hand went to her middle.
“The babe’s bootin’ you, eh?” Rob made a casual gesture. “The timing is right. The next three months, you’ll not be feeling so sleepy. The last three, you’ll be worn out and have your back achin’ fiercely, but that’s all to be expected.”
“Oh.”
She’s not cutting me off. I dinna dare push too far, but the lass needs help. Lord, give me the wisdom and words she needs.
“ ‘The barest of flutters.’ ” He smiled. “That’s how the first mother-to-be I doctored many years back described it. Later, she declared that same babe was stompin’ in hobnailed boots inside her.” Hitching his shoulder, Rob admitted, “ ’Twas her eleventh babe. My hands caught him—a fat, squalling boy—but that woman took a mind to tell me half of what I needed to know wasna in my medical texts.”
“She told you this? Your patient?”
“Aye, and right she was.” Rob casually patted his chest pocket. “Now there’s a pity. After each visit I paid her, I wrote notes to myself. Ever see that small red book I carry? I could quote page upon page, but still I carry it with me on the days I’m to see a woman who’s in a motherly way.”
“Why?”
“That book serves as a reminder that ’tisna always the mind that teaches us the important things—ofttimes, ’tis the heart.”
Mercy started hoeing again with a vengeance. “You’re supposing everyone has a heart. You’re wrong, Doctor. Write that down in your book, too.”
Chapter 11
As soon as the bitter words left her mouth, Mercy regretted them. They were honest—but too stark. Concentrating on a small dirt clod, she beat it into oblivion as she muttered, “I should not have said that.”
“And why not? There’s nothing wrong with speaking the truth as you see it.”
“I’m not a child. You do not need to humor me.”
“I’m not humoring you. As a matter of fact, I think you have plenty of call to question if anyone has a heart. You’ve suffered greatly because of what others have done.”
She stared at the soil. “It was not others about whom I spoke. It is mys
elf.”
“Without a doubt, Miss Stein, you have a heart of gold. You love your brother and grandda. You even pet baby skunks.”
“It does not say much for my character that I care for the young, the old, and the helpless. These days, those are all I do care for.”
“Your heart has been wounded as surely as any other injury you have suffered. To my way of thinking, there’s nothing wrong with you guarding yourself. You need time.”
“Time will not help.” Mercy stared at the earth. If anything, time would only make matters worse. People already shunned her. How much worse would it become when her belly grew huge? And how would they treat her after she had the babe?
How will they treat the baby? The thought made her breath catch. Until this morning, she’d resented the life she carried. All she’d been able to link it to was the horrific act. Only now things seemed different. That life was so very small, so helpless. The gentle-as-raindrop patter I felt inside—how could I have thought I would hate such a thing?
“Time doesn’t cure everything.” The doctor let out a rueful chuckle. “If it did, I’d be out of business. What I’ve found is, as weeks and months go by, we gain wisdom and are better able to make decisions.”
“I have no decisions to make.” Mercy’s head shot up, and she stared at him. “These days, all I do is live with the way things are because of what others have done or thought or believed.”
“I’d be a fool of a man if I said what others think and believe doesna matter. Instead, though, why not give some consideration to what it is that you think and believe?”
Embarrassed that she’d been blurting out thoughts she ought to have kept private, Mercy decided to sidestep his probing question. “What I think is that I have chores to do. All the talk in the world won’t get them done.”
“These cabbages here look ripe and ready. How many are you wantin’ me to pick?”
“I didn’t mean for you to set your hand to my work!”
The doctor squatted down and absently brushed a little dirt from the side of the nearest head of cabbage. “I wasna born with a scalpel in my hand. Some of my most cherished memories are of helpin’ Ma in our garden.” He smiled at Mercy. “I confess, I often took a can along, just in case a worm turned up. Fish and vegetables make a fine meal.”
“Why did you come here today?”
“I had a couple of reasons.” He reached toward her. “Knife.”
“How do you know I have a knife with me?” Ever since that day, she’d carried a knife in her apron pocket.
“Any practical woman would when her garden brimmed like this.” He accepted the knife, cut a cabbage, and hefted the head a few times. “Round and heavy and the color’s good.” He tilted his head to the side. “I’ve said the selfsame thing about a few of the babes I’ve delivered.”
I knew not to trust him. She turned away as she said in a flat tone, “You came to talk to me of the child of my shame.”
“Stop right there.” He straightened up and stepped in front of her. “Whatever else you think, Mercy Stein, know this: I have not, and I never will think of you as being shamed. Shame implies you did something that makes you guilty. You did nothing wrong.”
“If I did nothing wrong, then why is God punishing me?” She slapped her hand over her mouth and stepped backward, away from him. Something hit her ankle, and she started to fall.
“Careful.” The doctor’s fingers clamped around her wrist and drew her upright. His strength amazed her. Until now, he’d always been restrained and gentle. His brothers came and did physical labor, so the fact that he was every bit as tall and broad as they hadn’t registered. “The hoe was behind you, lass.”
“You’re strong.” It came out as an accusation.
“That fact needn’t trouble you. I’ve taken an oath to heal, not to harm.”
Mercy stared at him. How did he know I’m afraid? Just as quickly, she resented the fact that he knew of her vulnerability. “You talk too boldly.”
“I’m a plainspoken man. Hiding behind fancy words never suited me. Cutting to the heart of a matter is best. I admire how you’ve been doing that today. The things you’ve said thus far—you’ve shown rare courage for admitting what others would gloss o’er.”
Courage? Mercy shook her head. “How can you tell me not to be troubled by your strength in one minute, only to suggest I’m brave in the next?”
“Because until you’re honest enough to confess your doubts and fears, you canna get beyond them. God created us with physical bodies, but just as surely He filled us with feelings and placed a soul within us. ’Tisna just your body that is changing. Your feelings and faith are, too. You’ve come to the point where you recognize that fact.”
Mercy watched him nod his head as if he’d just solved the problems instead of starkly laying them out. Loneliness swamped her. No one could possibly understand—
“I’ll not insult you by spouting platitudes and saying I know how deep your sorrows flow.” The doctor gave her wrist a tiny squeeze, then loosened his hold and slid his hand down until his fingers laced with hers. “I came today to promise to help you through the weeks and months—aye, and e’en the years ahead. As your doctor, I’ll inform you what to expect.
“If you’d like, I’ll loan you my little red book. I took care not to write the woman’s name in it, and she gave me leave to put down whate’er I wished. You needn’t worry that we’d be prying into her privacy. Think on it and let me know if you’d like that. Since you dinna hae a mother or grandma here to instruct you from a woman’s perspective, it might be nice.”
Mercy couldn’t unknot all of the feelings coiling inside her. His offer was everything she needed but not what she wanted. Why couldn’t one of the ladies from church pay a visit and privately teach her such intimate things? But the women all kept their distance and withheld their counsel—yet the doctor didn’t because he felt she and this babe were blameless.
“You asked why God is punishing you. Terrible things happen, but they are not always His doing.”
“But He lets them happen.”
“There’s no denying that.” He paused. “Hae you e’er noticed that for all the trials that beset Job, God ne’er took His hand off the man? Just as surely as I stand here and hold your hand in mine, He is with you and has not loosened His grip.”
One by one, Mercy uncurled her fingers. She dragged her hand free from the doctor’s hold. “Job’s friends still stayed by his side.”
The doctor snorted. “Some friends. Even Job’s wife told him to ‘Curse God, and die.’ That kind of help is worse than none a-tall. Job held fast to his faith, and that’s why the story has such a grand ending.”
“There’s not a good ending for my story. There can’t be.”
“I disagree. To say that, you give up your faith in God’s love and goodness.”
Mercy closed her eyes. Pain washed over her. The loneliness she felt wasn’t just for friends. In the maelstrom life had become, she’d lost her faith, too.
“Earlier, you asked why God’s punishing you. In the midst of all this, dinna be shy of asking those hard questions.”
“It makes no difference,” she said in a tone that sounded as heavy as her heart felt. “There are no answers.”
“I’ve noticed something. Christians who grow up as believers most often come to a crisis at some point in life. ’Tis then all they were told is stripped away. All they have left is a skeleton of faith. Just as your grandda has had to work to build up his wounded muscles, you have to build up your strength of faith so you can continue on your walk with the Lord. ’Tis by asking the questions, praying, and reading the Word that you will succeed.”
I can’t get past asking the questions. Praying and reading the Bible—I can’t. As soon as she told herself that, something inside shot back, Can’t, or won’t?
“Here is your book.” Mercy’s voice was barely audible as she palmed the tiny leather book to Robert.
He casually tucke
d it into his pocket and surveyed the huge assortment of crates and dishes in the back of her buckboard. “You brought enough food to feed an army for a year.”
“Everyone is talking about your house kit. I expect a whole army of men to come help. They would come anyway, but their curiosity will have them arrive early and leave late.”
“Hot as it’s been, it makes sense that we start early.” Rob hefted the closest crate. “Do you have any particular order to this?”
“That one can be stored back—it is for late in the day. This one,” she said as she started to lift another, “I will need—”
“Put that down.” Rob’s throat ached with restraint. It took every shred of self-control not to roar the order at her.
“It is not heavy. I—”
He shifted the crate he held to one side and jerked the other from her. “Go open the screen door.”
She scampered ahead. Once inside, Rob set down the crates and turned on her. “You canna be lifting things like this.”
“I’m not weak. I put them all in the wagon myself.”
“Miss Stein, it has nothing to do with strength. Your delicate condition—” The color flooding her cheeks left him feeling crass and mean. He’d made his point, so he changed tactics. “Three men live here. We’re strong of muscle but feeble in the kitchen. Stay here and direct us as to where you want each crate to go.”
“Cabbage and carrots in this one,” Duncan announced as he carried in a bushel basket.
“Go ahead and put those wherever you want,” Chris said as he entered on Duncan’s heels. “I’ve got strudel here. I’m taking it upstairs. If either of you says a word about it, you won’t get a bite.”
Mercy shook her finger. “Christopher Gregor, you behave yourself.”
“I am. I offered to share this with my brothers.”
“You will share it with all of your brothers in Christ tomorrow morning.”
“If any is left, I will.” Chris sounded downright reasonable.
Mercy smiled. “You cannot always have whatever you grab for.”
Brides of Texas Page 8
