When Mercy Rains

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Shelley’s derisive snort blasted from behind Suzanne. “No restaurant pot pie could ever be as good as homemade. At least, not my homemade.”

  Alexa shot Suzanne a frustrated look, which Suzanne returned before tapping her finger against her lips. A hostess led them to a square table next to the windows giving them a view of flowering gardens and a tiny fountain.

  Shelley grimaced. “The sun is shining in too much here. It hurts my eyes. Can we sit over there instead?”

  “Of course.” Without breaking her stride, the hostess seated them in the corner Shelley had indicated. Not even one finger of sunlight reached them. She handed out menus, informed them Patricia would be their server, and finished brightly, “Enjoy your lunch!”

  Shelley snapped her menu open and scowled at the pages. “How are you supposed to read this thing? It’s so dark in here.”

  Mother angled a disbelieving look at her. “Gracious sakes, Shelley, you’re the one who didn’t want to sit in the sunshine. Stop your fussing and find something to eat!”

  Shelley set her lips in a grim line and examined the menu in steamy silence.

  Suzanne stifled a sigh of relief and savored the brief quiet. As much as she’d anticipated time with Shelley, she now regretted inviting her along. What should have been a pleasurable outing had turned into a day of tension. She could hardly wait to return to Arborville and separate herself from her sister. The realization saddened her.

  Their server approached and flashed a beaming smile. “Hello, ladies! I’m Patricia, and I’ll be taking care of you today. What can I bring you to drink?”

  “Water with lemon, please,” Alexa said.

  Suzanne nodded. “Water with lemon would be great, thank you.”

  Mother requested coffee, and Patricia turned to Shelley. “And you, ma’am?”

  Shelley turned her unsmiling gaze upward. “Do you have brewed sweet tea?”

  “Sweet tea.” The girl jotted it onto her pad.

  “Wait.” Shelley held up her hand like a traffic cop stopping cars. “I asked if you have brewed sweet tea.”

  Patricia’s forehead puckered. “Yes, ma’am, we brew our tea.”

  “Do you add the sugar while you’re brewing it or after, to make it sweet?”

  The server now puckered her lips in addition to her forehead. She was beginning to look like a prune. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Shelley sighed. A long, dramatic, laden-with-irritation sigh. She spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “At what point is the sugar added to the tea—during the brewing process, or do you stir in a few teaspoons to regular brewed tea right before you serve it?”

  Patricia’s confused expression remained. “Um …”

  Shelley waved her hand. “Never mind. Just bring me a glass of water with lemon.”

  Patricia took off as if someone had fired her from a cannon.

  “You’d think they’d know how things are prepared,” Shelley groused, bending over the menu again. “Now I’m half afraid to order something to eat.”

  Alexa gave Suzanne another can-you-believe-her look, but Suzanne was careful not to respond to it. She had to pray again—twice—to keep from kicking Shelley under the table when her sister launched into questions about whether the tilapia was sautéed in butter, oil, or margarine and whether the cook used instant rice in the pilaf. Suzanne secretly vowed to double Patricia’s tip. The poor girl was earning every penny.

  The food was good, as Suzanne had come to expect, but the stilted conversation and Shelley’s continued critical comments about everything from the cornbread being too crumbly to the piped music being too fast paced cast a negative light over the meal.

  By the time they finished eating, Suzanne had a tension headache at the back of her skull. “I know we usually browse the shop, but it’s pretty crowded in here today. So let’s just head home, okay?”

  Neither Alexa nor Mother disagreed, so Suzanne set off for the front doors. Shelley grabbed her arm. “I need to use the ladies’ room before we go.” She bustled in the direction of the restrooms, leaving Alexa, Suzanne, and Mother in a little group near a display of T-shirts. Alexa held one up that said “I always wear fur thanks to my cats.”

  Suzanne gave the expected chuckle and picked up another shirt, but Mother tapped her on the elbow. She set the shirt aside. “Do you need to use the ladies’ room, too?” Suzanne asked.

  Mother shook her head. She quirked her finger, beckoning Suzanne to lean down. She bent over and put her ear near Mother’s mouth. Her mother’s warm breath touched her cheek as she whispered, “While she’s in the bathroom, let’s get in the car and sneak away.”

  Suzanne straightened, staring at Mother in shock. She received her second surprise when she witnessed mischief dancing in Mother’s eyes and her lips twitching with a suppressed grin. Mother had just joked with her! Happiness rolled through her and emerged in a flood of laughter.

  Alexa flicked a curious look across them. “What’s so funny?”

  Mother repeated her comment in a stage whisper, and Alexa clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Then she, too, broke into laughter. The three of them laughed until tears rolled down their faces, but a sharp hissing voice stilled their merriment.

  “What is the matter with you? People are staring!”

  At Shelley’s admonishment, Suzanne looked around. Other customers were looking at them, but none seemed offended. In fact, they smiled, as if approving the display of mirth.

  Mother sighed. “Stop being a stick-in-the-mud, Shelley.” She gave the grips on her wheelchair a thrust that sent the chair forward, muttering, “We waited too long.”

  Suzanne bit down on the tip of her tongue to prevent another spill of laughter from escaping as she followed her stiff-lipped sister out of the restaurant. Perhaps it had been unkind to share a joke at Shelley’s expense, but the laughter had erased her headache. As she settled behind the wheel, she sent a secretive smile over the seat, and Mother winked. Winked!

  Every frustration, every disappointment, every moment of embarrassment she’d suffered during the day disappeared in the space of one flick of an eyelid. In that moment, Suzanne was happy she’d come back. Happy she’d taken Shelley along for the day. Happy. The teasing wink rekindled every pleasant memory of the mother she’d known before her fall from grace. Why Shelley’s irascibility had brought it out, Suzanne couldn’t imagine, but she was grateful for it.

  She found it easy to aim a smile—a genuine smile—in her sister’s direction as she said, “Everybody ready? Okay. Let’s go home.”

  Abigail

  The house was quiet. Like a tomb. Abigail lay in her bed in her dark room, eyes open, staring at nothing. Although the windows were cracked to allow in the cool night air—something she did year-round because she couldn’t bear a stuffy room—her body was bathed in sweat. She gave the covers an awkward toss, and they slid halfway off the bed with the tangled sheets and light blanket draping across her knees. She wanted to kick them free, but of course she couldn’t kick. She waited for anger or bitterness to swell at her helplessness, but the old emotions refused to come. Instead she only felt sad. Lonely. Dead inside.

  Today she’d laughed. Laughed so hard tears rolled. And her comment hadn’t even been that funny. It was as though years of bottled-up laughter had been waiting for an excuse to pour out, and Suzy’s wide-eyed reaction gave her permission to pop the cork. The laughter had felt so good, so cleansing, so freeing. Why had she denied herself the expression of merriment for so long?

  She knew why. But she wasn’t ready to admit it. Not even to herself.

  She deliberately turned her thoughts to Shelley, who hadn’t joined in the laughter. Who berated them for making a spectacle of themselves. Who criticized and condemned and nitpicked until Abigail wanted to screech at her in frustration. But she hadn’t. Because in her daughter’s behavior she’d been given a glimpse of herself.

  Tears flowed down Abigail’s cheeks for the second time that day
. She pawed at the moisture with her hands, but new torrents replaced the ones she batted away. “I’ve failed them, Lord.” The prayer rasped from her aching throat—the first nonrote prayer she’d uttered in longer than she could remember. She was almost sixty years old. Her children were grown. She couldn’t go back and try again to be understanding instead of judgmental, loving instead of unforgiving, tender instead of harsh. She saw her shortcomings now—she saw them far too clearly—but her reckoning had come too late.

  Lifting her arm, she muffled her sobs with the bend of her elbow. She cried until her nightgown sleeve was soaked and even her hair was damp. She cried to the point of exhaustion. As sleep finally claimed her, one fleeting thought drifted from the recesses of her consciousness. I can’t change yesterday, but can I change tomorrow?

  Suzanne

  Although she’d attended worship services each Sunday since her return to Arborville, on this last Sunday in May Suzanne finally felt relaxed. Mother’s spot was in the back corner where a shorter bench created a little space for her wheelchair. How marvelous to settle next to Mother with a sigh of contentment rather than sitting stiff and uncomfortable, worrying about what others might be thinking. Somehow others’ opinions had ceased to matter after last Thursday’s trip to Wichita and the time of laughter with her mother. Mother had accepted her, seemingly wholeheartedly, and that was all that mattered.

  Mother’s change in attitude along with her dissatisfaction with either of the candidates she’d chosen to interview—funny how someone could look so wonderful on paper but fall far short in person—made Suzanne less impatient to return to Indiana. She wouldn’t have believed it possible for Mother to change. But she had, and it gave her a small flicker of hope that, perhaps, Shelley and Clete might eventually soften toward her, too.

  She still intended to find a nurse for Mother. Her Indiana friends, church family, and coworkers tugged at her. Her life was there now. But Alexa’s comments about the importance of family had left an impression. If it meant being restored to a right relationship with all of her family, she was willing to stay as long as necessary to secure a nurse who would provide excellent care for her mother. And for now it was sweet bliss to sit between her mother and her daughter in the church of her childhood.

  The small building became crowded as benches on both sides of the aisle filled, the men sitting on the north and the women on the south. Suzanne watched the others move to their places without exchanging any of the chitchat to which she’d grown accustomed at the church in Franklin. Although the silence had seemed cloying her first Sunday back, now it helped establish her heart for worship. Perhaps she wasn’t as separated from her Old Order roots as she’d initially thought.

  As a child, Suzanne had sat on the third bench from the front, first beside Mother and then, with the arrival of little sisters, beside Shelley. Mother had moved farther toward the center to open up space for the younger girls. Sandra, Shelley with Ruby and Pearl, and Tanya with Julie and Jana now occupied the familiar bench. Clete, Jay, Harper, Derek, and little Ian filled the bench directly across the aisle where Dad had always sat with Clete during Suzanne’s growing-up years.

  Behind the Zimmerman bench was Paul’s family bench. He still sat on the aisle. Back in her teens, she’d found it easy to peek over her shoulder at him. Every time she looked, she found him focused on her rather than on his Bible or the one preaching.

  From her place in the back, she had a view of Paul’s broad shoulders and short-cropped hair. His suntanned neck looked even darker against the thin band of his crisp white shirt sticking up above the collar of his suit coat. Memories carried her backward. How many times had she been scolded for sending smiles in his direction during worship? Maybe if she’d heeded her parents’ warnings about flirtation, she wouldn’t have ended up in trouble. But then, if she hadn’t gone with Paul that night, she wouldn’t have been sent to Indiana, wouldn’t have been gifted with Alexa, so how could she wish away that evening?

  As she sat, gazing at the back of his head, he turned and caught her looking. Her face flooded with heat, and red streaked his fresh-shaven cheeks. For several seconds they stared past everyone and everything else into each other’s eyes as if they’d turned into blocks of ice. Or pillars of salt.

  Rattled, she forced her gaze aside as the song leader stepped to the front and invited everyone to rise for the opening hymn. She stood but she didn’t join when the others began an a cappella rendition of “Just as I Am” in four-part harmony. Her throat felt tight and raw. No words would escape it. Like a magnet, Paul’s sturdy form once again drew her attention.

  Although others blocked her view, if she shifted her head slightly, she could glimpse him standing with his hand on his son’s shoulder, his chin high as he sang. He sang tenor, and she’d always loved listening to his clear, resonant voice, but she couldn’t detect it above the others all joined together. The realization disappointed her.

  “ ‘Just as I am, though tossed about, with many a conflict, many a doubt …’ ”

  Although the beautiful music reverberated from the rafters, her chest began to ache. The words stung, their meaning far too accurate. She looked at Mother and then at Alexa. They both sang—Alexa in a sweet soprano and Mother in her familiar alto. They appeared content, the way she’d felt when she first settled onto the bench this morning. But one lengthy exchange of glances had pulled the rug of contentment from under her feet and left her floundering again.

  How, after so many years, could Paul still affect her? He’d asked for her forgiveness. She’d given it. Shouldn’t she be able to set her memories aside and let go? If she couldn’t move past the memories—if they would always haunt her—how could she remain here in Arborville?

  The congregation sang two more hymns, and then one of the deacons presented an hour-long message. Suzanne listened respectfully, keeping her focus on the man at the front or following along in her Bible when he read Scripture. She didn’t allow herself so much as a peek in Paul’s direction. When the sermon ended, everyone except Mother shifted to kneel at the benches for prayer. The same deacon who’d delivered the morning’s sermon led them in prayers of gratitude for blessings, confession of sin, and finally petitions.

  All across the room, whispered voices mingled, prayers finding their way from the lips of men to the ears of God. Suzanne prayed, but she kept her words inside rather than allowing them to escape even on a whisper. She wouldn’t risk either Mother or Alexa overhearing the burden of her heart. Let me forget, Lord. You’ve forgiven me. You’ve forgiven him. I’ve forgiven him. Now please … please, let me forget.

  With the deacon’s resounding “Amen,” the service ended. The quiet ended, too, as people rose and began visiting. Suzanne shook her head in wonder at the cacophony of voices. If she didn’t know better, she’d think they hadn’t had opportunities to catch up with neighbors during the week. But she did know better.

  Being out away from town, Mother was isolated from the town’s interactions. On the other Sundays Suzanne had attended, Mother demanded to be rolled out of the church immediately following the service, claiming the clatter made her head pound. Suzanne automatically reached for the handles of Mother’s wheelchair to take her outside.

  Mother reached back and patted her hand. “See if you can push me over there to Fonda Loepp. I want to talk to her about the quilting group.”

  Suzanne searched the milling throng for Mrs. Loepp. She located her near the front of the church in the center aisle, speaking with Paul and his son. Suzanne gulped. “Um … Alexa?” She shifted aside and gestured for Alexa to take hold of the handles. “Your grandmother wants to talk to Mrs. Loepp. She’s the one—”

  “Don’t tell me, she’s the one wearing a white cap with black ribbons,” Alexa said, a teasing grin on her face.

  So many times her daughter’s humorous comments had pulled her from the doldrums or moments of worry. Had Alexa sensed her gloomy thought and chosen impishness to erase it? Whatever the reason, th
e tension in Suzanne’s shoulders eased as she released a short laugh. “Very funny. She’s the one in the orange-and-green-flowered dress, talking to Mr. Aldrich.”

  “All right.”

  Mother grabbed the rubber grips on the wheels and held tight. “Suzanne Abigail Zimmerman, I didn’t ask Alexa to take me to Fonda, I asked you. Why are you dumping me on Alexa?”

  “I’m not dumping you!” Suzanne’s conscience pricked. The prick became a stab when Mother turned a knowing look on her. She sighed. “All right, I admit, I was dumping you.”

  “Why?” Alexa asked the question. Given Mother’s smirk, she already knew the answer. Before Mother could contribute her thoughts, Suzanne answered.

  “Never mind. Here.” She plunked the car keys into Alexa’s hand. “Bring the car around so we can load Mother when she’s finished talking to Mrs. Loepp. We’ll be out soon.” At least she hoped it would be soon. Mother had been using every excuse imaginable to put her in proximity with Paul over the past week and a half.

  She inched Mother’s chair between people, excusing herself as she went. Was Mother really interested in the quilting group, or was she only trying to throw her into Paul’s pathway again? Although she didn’t want to destroy the fragile peace they’d established with each other, she needed to have a talk with Mother concerning letting the past remain in the past.

  Suzanne eased Mother within a few feet of Mrs. Loepp and Paul, intending to let them finish their conversation rather than interrupt. But Mother caught the rubber grips on the chair’s wheels and closed the gap between them. Suzanne scurried along behind, uncertain what else to do. But she kept her gaze on Mother’s mesh cap. No sense in locking eyes with Paul while Mrs. Loepp looked on. The quilting circle had loved to gossip back when Suzanne lived in town, and she didn’t imagine the practice had changed.

  “Fonda,” Mother blared, pulling the woman away from whatever she was saying to Paul. “Do the quilting ladies still meet on Tuesday mornings?”