The Mercy (11 page)

R
ose had been aware of the hammering going on Wednesday morning while working at Brownings’. It made her smile, knowing her father and Aaron were building the addition.

Back home now, Rose kept busy hemming a dress for one of her new dolls. Mattie Sue was her little shadow, watching every stitch.

“Will ya tell me a story, Aendi Rose?” Mattie Sue finally asked.

“What sort of story?” Rose glanced down at her.

Mattie Sue hesitated, as though thinking it through. “How about a story about Nick.”

Startled, Rose asked, “Nick? What do you want to know?”

“Why’d he go away? Mommy said he did something really bad.”

Rose sighed.
Oh goodness.
She didn’t know how to explain what she knew about Nick’s life prior to his coming here, and she certainly wasn’t going to address why he’d left.

“I miss him.” Mattie Sue fooled with the hem of her apron. “Did he like growin’ up in the country . . . around the animals?”

“Sure, he loved it here.”

“What was he like when he was little?”

Mattie Sue was certainly fond of Nick, just as he had been of her, but Rose truly wondered what prompted her niece’s interest today. “Well, honey, he didn’t come to live with the bishop till he was ten years old, ya know.”

“Where was he before that?”

“With his mother.” Rose braced herself for more questions, but surprisingly, Mattie Sue said nothing more, going to the window to look across at the Petersheims’ two-story barn. She pressed her nose against the glass, making circular breath marks while Rose finished hand sewing the little black apron.

“I can tell you about Nick coming to live next door,” Rose offered at last.

Mattie Sue turned and hurried back to Rose. She sat down, dangling her short legs from the bench. “Did he ride a horse then?”

“Jah, and sometimes he rode bareback, too, but he wasn’t s’posed to. He was disobedient.”

“Did he ride before he came here?”

“He lived in a big city, so I doubt it.”

“Did he tell ya ’bout that?”

“Some.” Rose didn’t want to reveal much on that topic. She looked at the day clock on the wall over the sink. “Mammi Sylvia will be comin’ in a bit to help make supper, so now’s a
gut
time for a story.”

Leaning her head against Rose’s arm, Mattie Sue curled up.

“Once upon a time—”

Mattie Sue giggled. “Goody! I like this one.”

“How do ya even know?” Rose laughed softly, carefully threading the needle through the black fabric.

“Daddy always starts like this.”

Rose glanced over her shoulder toward the sitting room and the stairs. And the bedroom beyond, where Mamm was resting soundly when she checked earlier.
Her last day to rest before the surgery,
Rose thought nervously.

“Don’t stop,” Mattie Sue urged.

“All right.” She kissed the top of Mattie’s head. “Once upon a time, there was a boy named Nick, who often left the table before the second grace. He was told if he didn’t stay put, he’d have to spend time with his older sister, milking cows by hand. Of course, that was the last thing the city boy wanted to learn. So he started sitting still till the second prayer was finished.”

“He learned to obey?”

“Well, in that case he did.”

“I’m learnin’ that, too,” Mattie Sue said almost proudly.

“Anyway, one day Nick found a wounded raccoon in a tree hole and carried the furry little creature all the way home to show his sisters, who squealed with glee.”

Mattie Sue perked up. “He
did
?”

“He ended up setting the raccoon’s leg in a little wooden splint and nursing the poor critter back to health. In his free time, Nick even built a big cage just for her, though he let the raccoon go free after a couple of months.”

“Did he name her?”

“Oh, he was always namin’ the animals. That one he called Rosie.”

“But that’s
your
name.”

“Jah . . . ’tis.” Rose wasn’t about to guess why Nick had chosen her name. Maybe he was sweet on her even then.

“Tell me another story ’bout Nick,” pleaded Mattie Sue, clapping her hands. “This is fun!”

“Well, let’s see. I could tell you about the time he and I went fishing and caught enough catfish for both our families to fry up for supper. Nick cleaned the whole bunch of them, which pleased the cooks no end.”

Mattie Sue had a faraway look in her eyes. “Nick’s awful nice, ain’t?”

Rose smiled.

“I heard him talkin’ to Pepper once.”

“He loved that horse, for sure.”

“More than anything, didn’t he, Aendi Rose?”

Rose stopped her sewing to look down at Mattie Sue. “Well, he also loved the bishop and Barbara. And their grandchildren. He sometimes told them stories, ya know, but mostly they’d have a tellin’ amongst themselves—and he’d listen in.”

“Nick told
me
a story once.”

“A happy one?”

Mattie Sue straightened and leaned forward on the table. “He wanted to go to school. It was his dream.”

“To college?”

“I think so.”

Rose’s heart sank.
That’s a sad story.

“It made his brother real mad.”

“Maybe Christian didn’t want to hear that story,” Rose said.

“Nick said Christian’s name wasn’t right for him.”

Rose remembered all too well how adamant Nick had been about that.
“They should’ve named him Cain.”
She shivered with the memory.

“Nick’s story came true, ya know,” Rose said. “He’s attending college right now.”

Mattie Sue frowned and looked at her.

“That’s why he left here.”
One reason.

“So that’s not a pretend story, then?”

Rose shook her head.

“Nick said there’s a hobgoblin in the ravine. Is
that
true?” Mattie’s eyes were wide now.

Rose shook her head. “Oh, that’s just a joke.”

Suddenly, she heard Mamm calling and put down her sewing. “Be careful not to bump the needle, all right?” she instructed Mattie Sue. With that, Rose went into the bedroom, where she found her mother in tears. “Mamma, what is it?”

“I had an awful dream.”

She knelt beside the bed and clasped her mother’s hands. “I’m right here, Mamma.” Rose didn’t really want to hear about the dream. Not after her talk with Mattie Sue.

“I dreamed I was still in pain even after the surgery,” Mamm said, clinging to her hand.

Rose refused to give in to fear. “Let’s trust the Lord for the outcome,” she whispered. “He knows what’s best, jah?”

Mamm smiled through her tears. “Beth’s dream was heaven-sent, ain’t?”

Rose remembered everything about the dream that inspired Mamm to see the York specialist after so many years of resisting medical treatment. “We’re following what God put on Beth’s heart . . . for you, Mamma. Near everyone I know is beseeching the Lord God for you,” Rose said. “You can rest assured of that.”

“I heard ya talking ’bout Nick, just now. ’Least I thought it was him.”

Mamm had such good ears.

“Has the Lord put it on anyone’s heart to pray for him?” she asked.

“I’m sure Barbara and the bishop do,” Rose ventured. She, too, had prayed many times for her friend, though she wasn’t ready to say so.

“Lyin’ here, night after night, giving my pain up to God,” Mamm said, squeezing Rose’s hand, “I pray for Nick.”

“Do ya, Mamm?”

“Well, the Lord cares ’bout him. He’s lost, ain’t so?”

It was hard not to remember the times Mamm had spoken out against him, back when he lived amongst them. Rose agreed Nick was in need of God’s help. But even if he were to return and make a full confession, he would forever carry the mantle of responsibility for his brother’s death . . . even though the People would offer forgiveness.

Despite that, all this talk about Nick had stirred something in her, something she’d thought was buried. Maybe she
wasn’t
ready to start seeing a new fellow. Rose had placed Isaac Ebersol’s letter on top of Nick’s in her dresser drawer on purpose. But now she really didn’t know what to think.

Just when I was looking forward to meeting Isaac come Saturday.
Yet Rose honestly wondered if he, or any young man, could ever make her forget Nick Franco.

R
ose scanned the semiprivate waiting room at the York hospital Thursday. Except for Brandon, everyone wore Plain garb. Her family and the Petersheims huddled together for support on this day Mamm had been so anxious for. The day brought its own set of concerns, though hopefully the surgery would bring about the longed-for result of a life free of chronic pain. Like going through a long tunnel to get to the other side, thought Rose.

Each member of the family had taken a turn with Mamm prior to her being wheeled through the double doors and down the corridor. They gave a gentle hug and promised to uphold her in prayer. Dat had squeezed Mamm’s hand more than once, telling her they would stay put for the duration of the surgery—possibly four to six hours—waiting for the doctor’s report.
“Don’t worry none, jah, Emma? God is with you,”
he’d said.
“Ever near . . .”

Now five hours had already passed and Mamm was still un conscious behind those big doors, and no one had come out to say she was all right. “Are things goin’ as expected, do ya think?” Rose whispered to Hen, who sat next to her.

Hen shook her head slightly, apparently deep in thought.

Dat looked as though he might be wondering the same thing, over there across the room with Rose’s brothers and the bishop. Mose and Josh talked quietly in Deitsch while Eli flipped through magazines, restless as anything. The many ham-and-cheese sandwiches and soft pretzels Mammi Sylvia had kindly sent along with them were long gone, consumed by nervous eaters.

As for herself, Rose had lost her appetite. She wished for one of her library books from home—a lighthearted love story might help her block out this tense moment. But then again, such reading material might’ve offended her father on such a solemn day, and she wouldn’t have done that for the world.

She sat between Hen and sister-in-law Suzy, who’d come in her husband Enos’s stead, as he’d awakened with a fever and congestion and didn’t want to expose Mamm or other hospital patients. There they waited—six of her brothers, Suzy, and Hen with Brandon. It was a peculiar situation, given that Suzy had always found it difficult to forgive Hen’s marriage to an outsider. Even now, Suzy was unable to disguise her displeasure, refusing to so much as even look at Hen or Brandon.

Brandon, on the opposite end of the plaid sofa, was more talkative than usual, conversing particularly with Aaron. He seemed more relaxed than normal this morning, yet Hen’s face was drawn and somewhat pale. Barbara, Mamm’s closest friend, seemed the least distressed of all of them, offering a real source of comfort.

Still looking about, Rose took in the artificial greenery, including an off-kilter tree that ascended behind one of the overstuffed leather chairs. She wished Mattie Sue had been able to come along. Each day Mattie spent with her daddy was one less day to pine for him, if and when he should leave the farm and return to their home in Quarryville.

Next to her, Suzy again opened her basket of embroidery, fidgeting. She smelled like lilacs, and Rose wondered why her sister-in-law had worn cologne today. Had she forgotten they might be cooped up together in the same room? The air in the space felt mighty stale and close.

Rose folded her hands in her lap and glanced back at the doors over yonder, wondering when someone—
anyone
—would have the courtesy to push them open and tell them what was happening on the other end of that long hallway.

Sol had been biting his nails—one of them nearly down to the quick. He watched the clock on the wall, its minute hand jerking forward second by second. It felt like ages since they’d taken Emma away from him, the needle in her vein hooked to a bag of liquid. The vision still pained him. They were going to operate on her spinal cord, for pity’s sake! What had possessed him to let his fragile wife endure such a thing? What?

He straightened a bit, regaining control of himself. It was his role to be strong for his children, grown though they were. He was their rock, second only to the Lord—the Rock of Ages. Again he relinquished the results of Emma’s surgery to almighty God in prayer. Even so, he was a man with a heart full of love . . . and worries. And fear was setting in.

“Dat, do you want to get something to drink . . . or a snack, maybe?” Mose leaned over and asked.

“Ain’t hungry.” Sol shook his head.

“Nothin’ at all?”

“Couldn’t think of eating.”

Sighing, Mose reached behind his head and rubbed his neck, apparently needing something to eat or drink himself. Or some fresh air.

“Go ahead, if you want.” Sol eyed his other sons—tall, strapping fellows.

Mose shook his head. “Nee—no. Denki.”

Joshua got up and headed for the snack area. Then the younger boys, Eli and David, followed.
They’re anxious,
Sol decided, closing his eyes to rest them for a time.

He let his mind wander back to last night, when he’d held frail Emma close before they’d fallen asleep. Emma had been the brave one, he recalled. Brave and stoic, saying he mustn’t fret.
“Remember what the doctor told us.”
He’d needed to hear it from her. No one could reassure him like his wife.

She’d said something else, too—wanted him to let Beth Browning know how the surgery went. Sol had promised her he’d stop by tomorrow morning. It was the least he could do.

Looking now at Brandon, whose right arm was mending in its cast, Sol noticed Hen sitting closer to him than usual. Sol hadn’t witnessed much affection or even companionship between them before. But today was different—or was Hen just feeling awful needy right now? No, the more he regarded them, the more he sensed the intangible spark between a man and the woman who loves him. Had something changed?

He let his eyes drift over the whole lot of them, these dear ones who cared so much for Emma and for him. How thankful Sol was to God for each life represented here.
I’m a blessed man.

High over the main window, the sun shone through a decorative transom, making for an eye-catching design. He stared, drawn to the radiance, scarcely able to keep his eyes from it.

Then, as he watched, the light reflected through a prism of sorts and resulted in a miniature rainbow. Colorful rays danced before him like a heavenly promise. He embraced it as a sign that all would be well.

But when yet another hour came and went, Sol’s former fear came back even stronger and camped at the door to his heart.

Hen’s gaze skittered around the attractive room. There were so many people crammed into the space, she thought unexpectedly of Preaching service. How very crowded it always was there, too. She shifted where she sat—she needed to get up and move around but didn’t want to leave and miss hearing the surgeon’s report. There had been times when she fully understood the expression “climbing the walls.” This was such a time.

Her attention focused on Brandon. His eyes were closed again, but earlier he’d seemed to enjoy conversing with Dad and her brothers. If she had known the surgery would last this long, she might’ve suggested her husband remain at home after all, resting as his doctor had so strongly advised.

She recalled the many prayers she and her family had offered up for him. What was God’s will for her husband? She felt torn between her concern for Brandon and her mother.

Leaning back into the sofa, Hen remembered how healthy and full of life Mom had always been before her accident. Hen regretted how she’d essentially abandoned her frail mother for Brandon, fully expecting Rose and Mammi Sylvia to pick up the slack. Oh, she regretted so many of her choices through the years.

Had she always been so self-centered? Why was it so hard to empty herself of her tenacious will? Her selfishness? To reach out wide to embrace family, friends, and others? Hen felt as if the choices she had made had turned her inward, her way of seeing the world as murky as Brandon’s own weeks of darkness.

Her mother had written to Hen after Mattie Sue’s birth, thrilled to welcome another grandchild into the family. Yet despite the kindly letter, Hen had withheld her baby from her parents, not visiting them at the farm, expecting them to see her on her own terms—at her modern house in town. Wincing at the thought, Hen turned to look at her father.
They deserved so much better from me.

Hen’s breath caught as she observed her dad wipe his eyes with his blue kerchief, his hair looking too neat for this time of day. His lower lip quivered as he slowly bowed his head, and she wished she was sitting over there next to him.
Lord, give Dad strength for this difficult day,
she pleaded.
And guide the surgeon’s hand, I pray.