When Mercy Rains

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  After the challenge of reheating coffee in the torn-up kitchen, Suzanne had wondered how they would prepare lunch. “Tanya, you’re a genius. Thank you.”

  Alexa lifted the lid on the top one. A wonderful aroma escaped. “It sure smells good. What kind are they?”

  Tanya wrinkled her nose. “Super Deluxe, I think they called it. I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I got the ones with everything. Just pick off what doesn’t please you.”

  Alexa laughed. “I won’t pick anything off. Unless I find an anchovy.”

  Tanya grinned. “I also stopped by the grocery store and picked up bread—”

  “Store-bought?” Mother made store-bought sound like something poisonous.

  Tanya grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine baking until Paul is able to put the kitchen together again. Remember, Clete and the girls said you’d have to make do while he worked in there.”

  Mother snorted.

  Tanya went on, “Bread, lunchmeat and cheese, boxed cereal, fruit, and bags of chips so you can prepare simple breakfasts and lunches. As for supper, Sandra, Shelley, and I will take turns bringing something out so you’ll have one good meal a day. Oh!” She held the plastic bag aloft. “I also got a good supply of paper plates, napkins, plasticware, and Styrofoam cups.” The look of apology returned. “I know it’s considered wasteful, but I didn’t know what else to do. Paul said he’d have to turn off the water in the kitchen, which means no washing dishes, so …”

  Suzanne stood and took the bag from Tanya. “It’ll be fine. You thought of everything.”

  Tanya shrugged. “We’ve had time to plan. It took nearly three months for Paul to clear his schedule.” She released a short laugh. “Of course, he’d have to find the time to work out here just as you arrived! And speaking of Paul, I’m going to ask him to join us. He brought a lunchbox with him, but he’d probably rather have pizza.”

  Suzanne had secretly celebrated escaping a face-to-face encounter with him that morning—thank goodness for that plastic sheet!—and her stomach rolled over as she considered sitting with him on the porch where he used to join her for long talks in the evenings half a lifetime ago. She sought an excuse to avoid inviting him to eat pizza with them. “Won’t his wife be offended if he doesn’t eat the lunch she packed?”

  Tanya shot her a startled look. “Didn’t you know? Paul lost his wife to cervical cancer several years ago.”

  Pain stabbed Suzanne as if an arrow had impaled her heart. Paul was a widower? Her discomfort was whisked away, and sympathy flew in to replace it. How tragic, to be left alone at his young age.

  Tanya went on. “So he packs his own lunch. I doubt he’ll mind saving it for tomorrow.” She trotted off the porch, swinging a glance over her shoulder. “Alexa, want to help me put these groceries away?”

  Alexa set the boxes aside and followed Tanya. Suzanne, her movements slow and clumsy given her inner turmoil, opened the bag and removed the paper plates.

  “Don’t use those,” Mother snapped. “Tanya can take them back to the store. We’ll have water in the bathroom so we can wash dishes in the bathtub. I won’t have the town whispering about me using paper products. More than wasteful, it’s lazy.”

  Within the Old Order sect, being accused of laziness was a terrible insult. But Suzanne would not wash dishes in a bathtub. She popped open the package of plates and forced a light tone. “Paper plates are perfect for a picnic, Mother. I’m sure people have more important things to worry about than whether or not you’re using paper products.” In all likelihood, Paul used paper products more often than not with no wife to see to the housekeeping chores.

  Mother released a disgruntled huff and set her lips in a firm line, but when Tanya, Alexa, and Paul joined them, she didn’t refuse a plate holding two slices of pizza. Suzanne’s hands trembled slightly as she served Paul, her awareness of his loss still strong. He mumbled a thank-you, but he looked to the side rather than meet her gaze. As soon as he had the plate, he moved to the far end of the porch steps, sat, and leaned against one of the pillars. His long legs stretched across the risers.

  When everyone had a plate, Tanya turned to Paul. “Would you bless the meal for us?”

  He immediately bowed his head. Sawdust decorated the dark strands of his hair, and a few bits fell onto his pizza. Suzanne kept her eyes open, watching more sawdust drift onto his plate while he offered a simple thank-you for the meal. When he raised his head, Suzanne cleared her throat.

  “Um …” She couldn’t bring herself to use his name. She pointed. “You lost some sawdust from your hair into your pizza.”

  He angled the plate toward the sunlight and made a face. “I sure did.” He set the plate aside, stepped into the yard with one lithe leap, and bent over. Lifting both hands, he ruffled his thick hair with his fingers. A shower of wood bits rained into the yard.

  Suzanne found herself mesmerized. As a teenager Paul had exuded confidence, and his simple, unconcerned manner of dealing with the sawdust in his hair let her know he hadn’t lost his sense of self-assurance. For some reason, the realization both rankled and pleased her. He straightened, leaving his short-cropped hair standing in disheveled ridges that begged to be smoothed into place. Suzanne quickly turned her attention to her pizza.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Paul plop down on the porch, flick the bits of wood from his pizza with his finger, and lift the triangle to his mouth. His first bite encompassed a good third of the slice and left a smear of tomato sauce on his mouth.

  Suzanne yanked a napkin from the package and carried it to him. “Here.” She tapped her own mouth to indicate where he needed to mop.

  He took the napkin, wiped the spot clean, then flicked a hesitant glance at her. “Did I get it?”

  She nodded.

  He looked at her, this time holding her gaze. A sheepish grin pulled up one side of his lips. “Thanks, Suzy.”

  With one simple word—Suzy—her discomfort returned in an overwhelming whoosh of emotion. She whirled toward the porch swing and caught her mother staring at her. Mother’s scowl of disapproval skewered her in place for several seconds. Heat filled her face. “I believe I saw a pitcher of tea in the refrigerator. Would anyone like some?”

  All but Mother expressed interest, so Suzanne hustled into the house, allowing the porch door to slam behind her. She heard her mother scold, “Gracious, Suzanne!” But she pretended not to hear and went straight to the refrigerator. She opened the door and leaned in, willing the cool air to remove the flush of embarrassment from her face.

  Tanya’s comment about the timing of Paul working at the farmhouse while Suzanne was there replayed through her memory. Why had God allowed their paths to collide this way? I can’t face him every day and keep my secret, God. Alexa and I have to go home. Let me hire a nurse quickly so my daughter and I can leave.

  Paul

  He observed Suzy’s mad dash into the house, chased there by Mrs. Zimmerman’s condemning glare. He’d seen that look before. She’d aimed it at him from her bench in church the day he’d married Karina. The woman’s obvious displeasure had made both him and his new bride uncomfortable. Hunkering over his plate and eating as quickly as possible, he recalled when Mrs. Zimmerman had seemed to like him. As a kid, he’d been in and out of her house regularly, spending time with Suzy. They’d been best buddies before they were old enough to consider courtship. But the woman had changed. People blamed it on her accident, but it seemed to him she’d adopted a bitter attitude long before the hay bale crushed her pelvis.

  As he finished his last bite, Suzy stepped onto the porch with the pitcher of tea. She poured a cup for each of them, including her mother, who took it without a word of appreciation. It bothered him, seeing how coldly Mrs. Zimmerman treated Suzy. Sure, she’d given up being openly demonstrative with her other children, but shouldn’t she be grateful to have her oldest daughter home? Shouldn’t she appreciate Suzy’s willingness to set aside her job and take care of her? Couldn’t
she say “thank you” instead of frowning as if being served a cup of tea was an insult?

  He downed his tea, trying to tamp the rising frustration. But it remained. He crushed the empty cup in his hand. Why did he care so much? He wasn’t part of this family. He had no right to form judgments. But he wanted to tell Mrs. Zimmerman to stop being so selfish and critical and offer her daughter a little bit of the mercy God had given her.

  He tossed the cup and wadded napkin onto his grease-smeared plate and rose. “Mrs. Zimmerman …”

  She looked at him. A dot of tomato sauce decorated the peach fuzz above her lips. Thin lips set in a grim scowl. A scowl that matched the heavy lines turning her forehead into a series of furrows. At first glance she looked fierce, but as he stood gazing at her, he suddenly recalled his father telling him that whatever a person carried on the inside would show on his outside. And on Mrs. Zimmerman’s face he saw a deeply imbedded misery.

  An unexpected wave of compassion swept over him. Of course she was miserable. Widowed young, stuck in a wheelchair, separated from her oldest child for two decades … Her sadness was years in the making. He hung his head. He’d played a part in inflicting misery on the woman. Instead of extending anger, shouldn’t he be merciful? The words he’d planned to say drifted away like bits of sawdust on the breeze. Thank You, Lord, for holding my tongue. I want no other regrets where Mrs. Zimmerman is concerned.

  He said, “I know the morning was pretty noisy and the afternoon won’t be much better. But I’ll clear out by three. I’ve got to be home when Danny gets there. So you’ll have a quiet evening. And I’ll be sure to clean up after myself so you won’t have to worry about sawdust being tracked all over the house.” He shifted his gaze to Tanya. “Thanks for the pizza.” Then he turned to Suzy. His throat tightened, but he said, “And the tea.” Turning once again to Mrs. Zimmerman, who maintained her stoic expression, he offered a smile. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

  He trotted off the porch and across the yard to the burn barrel, deposited his trash, then jogged around to the kitchen. By the time he got there, he felt winded, but it wasn’t from the short run. No, his shortness of breath came from the heavy weight of remorse he carried. He stepped into the kitchen and picked up his electric jigsaw, ready to return to work, but his finger rested on the trigger rather than pressing down.

  His chest ached. For Suzy. For Mrs. Zimmerman. Even for himself. He needed to dispose of this long-held burden. Before he went home, he’d take Suzy aside and beg her forgiveness. The thought of experiencing freedom gave him a lift, and he returned to work.

  But he didn’t have a chance to talk to Suzy alone before leaving that day. Or the next day since he had Danny with him. On Sunday after the worship service, other fellowship members crowded around her, keeping him from carving out a minute of time with her. Monday morning Danny awakened with a slight fever so Paul stayed home with him both Monday and Tuesday. By Wednesday he was nearly on tenterhooks. He’d rehearsed the request for forgiveness so many times, he had it memorized. If only he could deliver it.

  To his surprise, when he arrived Wednesday morning the house was empty. His heart set up a boom-boom that rivaled the strike of his hammer on a block of wood. She hadn’t decided to return to Indiana already, had she? Clete’s truck was parked beside the barn, so he headed out there and found his friend working on the engine of his dad’s old tractor.

  Clete looked up and smiled as Paul approached. “Hey. You can bang to your heart’s content in there today without bothering anybody. Mother and the girls are in Wichita.”

  Paul’s mouth went dry. “At the airport?”

  Clete applied the wrench to something inside the tractor’s belly, his face crunching in concentration. He sighed and pulled his arm free. “I tell you, when Dad tightened something down, he intended it to stay. I might have to borrow a power wrench from the mechanic in town.”

  He shifted his attention to Paul. “Nope. The fabric store. Mother’s lost so much weight, her clothes are all too big. Shelley offered to modify Mother’s dresses, but she wants her skirts longer so they cover more of her legs when she’s in the chair. So they went shopping. I think Suzanne plans to take Mother out for lunch and maybe go to the zoo while they’re in town—take advantage of this nice weather.”

  Paul resisted heaving a sigh of relief. “All right then. I’ll get to work.” He headed out of the barn with a determined stride. He’d keep an eye out for the women’s return. He would not go home tonight without setting things right with Suzy.

  But when three o’clock rolled around—time for Danny to be out of school—she still hadn’t returned. And Paul went home with the burden dragging on him like a ball and chain clamped on the foot of a prisoner.

  Alexa

  Alexa woke as the car jolted and bounced her head lightly against the window. She opened her eyes and caught Mom’s grin.

  “Pothole.”

  Alexa rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Sorry excuse.” She yawned and flicked a glance into the back. Grandmother sat in the middle of the seat, her head back, dozing. A soft snore emerged from her slack mouth. Alexa stifled a snicker and faced forward.

  “This was a good day.” She spoke quietly to keep from disturbing Grandmother. “The best so far.” She’d actually seen Grandmother’s lips curve into a small smile twice—once at the restaurant when the server brought her a slice of chocolate cake for dessert, and once at the zoo when an adorable chimpanzee came right up to the glass barrier and stared cross-eyed at her. And now, with Grandmother sleeping, Alexa had Mom’s full, undivided attention.

  She nibbled her lower lip. She hated to ruin the day, but she hadn’t had Mom to herself for more than two minutes since they’d arrived at the farm. Her uncle’s comment still festered in her soul, and she needed to excise the wound by talking about it with her mother. Should she bring it up now? Mom looked so relaxed—more relaxed than she had since she received the letter asking her to come to Arborville. Her question would surely shatter Mom’s calm.

  But it might be days before she got another chance. They were almost to the farm—maybe another five miles. Her wristwatch showed 5:10. Either Tanya or one of Mom’s sisters had been arriving at 5:30 every day with supper and their families in tow. By the time they cleared out, Mom would need to help Grandmother prepare for bed. Alexa had no idea what was involved in readying her grandmother for bed, but Mom always came out of the room exhausted. She hadn’t had the heart to bother her when she was so tired.

  So now was her chance. She sent another quick look into the back to be sure Grandmother wasn’t awake. She no longer snored, but her mouth still hung open. She was out. Alexa gathered her courage, leaned toward the center of the front seat, and whispered, “Mom, can I ask you a question?”

  Without taking her eyes off the road, Mom nodded.

  “Are you … ashamed of me?”

  The car jerked, then slowed. Mom held tight to the steering wheel but sent a startled look at Alexa. “Am I—No! Never!”

  Grandmother stirred. Alexa put her finger against her lip and stared at Grandmother. The older woman smacked her lips a couple of times, shifted on the seat, and went on snoozing. Alexa turned back to Mom. “Then why didn’t you ever tell your family you had a daughter?”

  Mom’s face paled. “Oh, Alexa …”

  The pain in Mom’s voice pierced Alexa’s heart. But she needed to know the truth. The hurt that had sprouted her first night in Arborville poured out in a raspy torrent. “In nineteen years you never found a way to let them know about me? I took everybody by surprise. Grandmother, Clete, Shelley, and Sandra—all the people in the town where you grew up.” Their startled expressions played through her mind, flaying her anew. “You’ve always told me I was your gift, and I believed you, but if I was such a gift, why keep me a secret? Were you ashamed to tell them you had an illegitimate child? Instead of being your gift, am I really your shame, Mom?”

  Mom released the steering wheel with one hand and gripped Alexa’s h
and. “Alexa, you are not my shame. You are my precious child. I love you more than you can imagine.” Her voice caught, and she swallowed twice before continuing. “When I discovered I was expecting a baby, my mother was mortified. And so angry. Good girls didn’t do … what I’d done.”

  Alexa could imagine all Grandmother had said. She squeezed Mom’s hand in silent empathy.

  “She forbade me to tell anyone else, and she arranged for me to go to a home in Indianapolis where a midwife would deliver the baby. Then I was to give it to my cousin and his wife who weren’t able to have children. Mother said by doing so, I would be able to redeem myself.”

  Alexa frowned. “And no one wondered why you left?”

  A sad smile played on the corners of Mom’s lips. “It isn’t uncommon for our young people to spend time in another Mennonite community when they reach courting age. Mother said people would assume that’s why I’d gone. After the baby was born, I could come home again and no one would have to know about it.”

  “But you kept me instead.” Warmth flowed through Alexa’s middle. Mom had defied her mother and abandoned her family … for her. Tears stung. “No wonder you couldn’t go home or say anything about me. Mom, I’m so sorry.”

  Mom placed both hands on the steering wheel and turned into the farm’s lane. She spoke so softly Alexa had to lean close to hear her. “You don’t have any reason to be sorry, honey. You didn’t do anything wrong. I committed all the wrongs.” She pulled to a stop next to the house, put the car in Park, and left the engine rumbling. Turning to face Alexa, she reached for her hands. Alexa clung. “But with all the wrongs, I hope you know how much I love you. I am not ashamed to have you for a daughter. Do you believe me?”

  A tear slipped free and rolled down Alexa’s cheek—one warm rivulet that helped wash away the deep pain she’d held. “I believe you.”

  Mom sighed and bowed her head. “Thank you.”