When Mercy Rains (14 page)

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.”

“But, Mom?” Alexa paused, debating with herself, but in the end she needed to know. “Is my father here … in Arborville?”

Mom kept her head low for several seconds. Then she lifted her face and looked into Alexa’s eyes. “No, honey, he isn’t.”

Alexa started to ask if she knew where he’d gone, but Mom clicked off the ignition, curled her fist around the keys, and opened the door. “We’d better get inside. Sandra’s bringing supper tonight, and I need to get the dining room table set up. Please get your grandmother’s wheelchair from the trunk and help her into the house.” She took off across the grass.

Alexa reached into the backseat to awaken Grandmother, but her eyes were open. Only to slits, but open. And fury seemed to smolder in her narrow gaze.

Of all Mom’s siblings, Sandra was the one Alexa liked the best. Partly because she was the youngest. At twenty-five she was only six years older than Alexa, seeming more like a friend than an aunt. Partly because she was so cute with her round belly and swaying waddle. But mostly because she exuded happiness. Sandra smiled all the time, unlike Shelley who seemed to have forgotten the muscles in her face were capable of forming a smile. The nights Shelley brought supper were tense, uncomfortable evenings. But when Sandra came, joy came with her. After her serious talk with Mom, Alexa needed a splash of joy, so she welcomed Sandra warmly when she and her family stepped into the house.

Sandra and Derek’s three-year-old son, Ian, pulled free of his father’s hand and plowed into Alexa’s knees. “ ’Lexa!”

The little boy had attached himself to Alexa within minutes of meeting her the first time. She didn’t understand why he’d chosen her, but she loved it. She scooped him from the floor in a hug, relishing the feel of his little arms around her neck. “Hi, Ian. Do you want to sit by me?”

“Yup.” His blond curls and dimples gave him a cherubic appearance. Alexa hoped the new baby would have Ian’s blond curly hair and adorable smile. He took Alexa’s face in his pudgy hands. “But not on a dixenbary.”

Alexa burst out laughing. “On a what?”

Derek shook his head. He plucked Ian from Alexa’s arms and put him on the floor. “He’s trying to say
dictionary
. We don’t have a highchair or booster seat out here, so we had him sit on a dictionary last time. He didn’t like it.”

Ian said, very seriously, “I sit on my bottom.” He sent a hopeful look upward. “ ’Kay?”

“If you sit very still.” Derek headed for the dining room and Ian followed.

Watching the father and son, Alexa couldn’t help smiling. They looked nothing alike. Ian had inherited his mother’s coloring and soft features rather than Derek’s ruddy complexion and square jaw, but their mannerisms were so similar it was almost comical. Derek walked like a cowboy who’d just vacated a saddle. Ian moved with the same wide-legged gait. When they ate the ham and vegetables casserole Sandra had provided, Derek surreptitiously pushed the lima beans to the side of his plate. Ian forked up the ham, zucchini, tomatoes, and carrots but, his little nose wrinkling, refused the lima beans as well. The two even wiped their mouths in exactly the same way—one swish of the napkin from left to right.

Alexa shifted her gaze to Mom, who sat between Sandra and Grandmother. Grandmother’s hair was almost solid gray, her face lined with age and years of worry, but Alexa could see the similarities in the three women. If Shelley were sitting there, too, it would be clear to anyone they were all related.

She thought about her appearance—straight brown hair, brown eyes, her face heart shaped rather than oval like the three Zimmerman women sitting in a row on the other side of the table. And her differences went beyond looks. Mom enjoyed reading or knitting in her spare time, but Alexa would rather garden or ride a bike than sit and read a book. Mom cooked because they had to eat, but Alexa found pleasure in creating tasty recipes. She and Mom, even though they loved each other, had little in common. Apparently she was more like her father … whoever he was.

Deep down she’d hoped she might find her father when she came to Arborville. Thanks to Tom, Sunday school teachers, and other men from their church, she’d never lacked for male role models, but she still wondered about her father. Just like Mom’s family, he didn’t know she existed. If he found out about her, would he welcome her enthusiastically, the way Sandra had, or would he hold his distance, like Shelley? There were no guarantees.

Alexa scooped up the last bite of casserole on her plate and looked again at Mom. Gratitude swelled her heart.
God, I might not have a father who loves me. I might not even have a big ol’ family that loves me. But I have Mom, and she gave up so much for me. If I’m her gift, then she’s mine. Thank You, God, for letting me be hers
.

Sandra pushed from her seat, her bulk making her clumsy. “I baked a pie for dessert. Cherry. Who wants some?”

Ian waved his fork in the air and nearly clunked Alexa on the side of the head. “Me! Me!”

Alexa, laughing, lowered the little boy’s hand. “You can give Ian my slice.”

Sandra’s face fell. “You don’t like cherries?”

Alexa cringed. “I’m afraid not. Sorry.”

“What are your favorites, then, so I’ll know for next time?”

Mom chuckled and began gathering up the used plates. “Alexa likes anything with chocolate.”

Sandra grinned. “Except cherries?”

Sheepishly, Alexa shrugged.

Grandmother shuddered. “I like cherries and I like chocolate, but I don’t like cherries with chocolate. Every year, Clete gets me a box of chocolate-covered cherries for Christmas, which I never eat.”

The thought of sticking one of those gooey candies in her mouth made Alexa want to gag. Knowing she and Grandmother had even such a silly little thing in common pleased her. “Maybe he’s giving you an opportunity to share, Grandmother,” she said, hoping to earn a smile.

Grandmother didn’t scowl, but neither did her face reflect amusement. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then snapped it closed. Curling her hands around the wheels on her chair, she backed herself from the table. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I’m going to my room to read a bit before turning in.”

Sandra touched her mother’s arm. “Are you sure you don’t want a piece of pie first? I used your recipe.”

Grandmother shook her head. She jerked her face toward Alexa. Something—was it obstinacy or orneriness?—glinted briefly in her eyes. “Now, if you’d baked a chocolate cake instead of the pie, Alexa and I would both have a piece. There’s always room for chocolate cake. Am I right, Alexa?”

Grandmother was teasing. With her. The thought of being in cahoots with her grandmother made her want to wriggle out of her skin in delight. She nodded. “Of course. Always.”

“So now you know, Sandra.” Grandmother shifted in her chair to look at her youngest daughter. “Who is bringing dinner tomorrow night?”

“It’s Shelley’s turn,” Sandra said.

“Tell her Alexa and I want chocolate cake for dessert.”

Sandra and Mom exchanged a look, their faces wearing matching expressions of puzzlement.

Derek cleared his throat. “Mother Zimmerman, Shelley probably already has tomorrow’s dinner planned. You know how she likes to stick to her calendar.”

Alexa had only been around Shelley twice, but she understood the warning in Derek’s statement. If Sandra was the sunniest person she’d ever met, Shelley was the most structured. Already Alexa felt as though Shelley saw her as an intrusion. She wouldn’t make it worse by expecting her to accommodate her dessert preference.

“Don’t worry about bothering Shelley. Since Grandmother wants chocolate cake tomorrow, I’ll bake one for her.”

“You bake?” Derek and Sandra chorused the startled question.

Alexa swallowed a giggle. If they only knew how much time she spent in a kitchen! “Yes. It’ll be a challenge, given the shape the kitchen is in, but I can get to the stove, so I can do it. Let me make dessert.” At that moment, the most important thing she could do was to bake the best chocolate cake her grandmother had ever eaten.

Sandra looked at Mom, who looked at Derek, who looked at Sandra. The
three of them shrugged. Sandra said, “If you want to bake a cake, Alexa, I’ll tell Shelley not to bring a dessert.”

The third smile of the day twitched on Grandmother’s cheek. “It’s settled then. I’m going to my room. Suzanne, give me an hour of peace before coming in to help me dress for bed.” She wheeled around the table and through the doorway to her bedroom. With a flick of her wrist, she closed the door behind her.

Alexa turned to Mom, ready to express her delight in being able to contribute to the next evening’s dinner, but the look on her mother’s face stopped her. Mom was staring after Grandmother with the same simmering fury Grandmother had shown earlier in the day.

Suzanne

Before going in to help her mother prepare for sleep, Suzanne slipped out to the barn. With the sun’s departure, the air had turned cool, but the sturdy walls of the century-old building would keep her warm. Alexa had given her a funny look when she’d stated she’d be out in the barn, but she knew she wouldn’t be overheard out there. She needed a private place to use her cell phone. Beyond a quick call to let Linda and Tom know she’d arrived safely, she hadn’t taken the time to phone. But tonight she needed her friend.

She entered the barn and pushed the heavy, rolling door closed behind her. The old knob-and-tube wiring still worked well, and light flooded the interior with her twist of the switch. A gray-striped barn cat, apparently startled by the light, leaped from the stacks of hay bales in the corner and dashed beneath a bench. A variety of smells, some pleasant and some pungent, met her nose, bringing with them a strong sense of stepping backward in time. As a child, she’d loved to visit the barn and watch her father work.

Melancholy struck—she missed Dad. She automatically moved to the tractor, which had been her father’s pride and joy, and perched on one of the tractor’s rubber tires. She took out her phone. The cat, apparently deciding she needed observation, crept out to sit nearby and wash its paw while keeping its gold eyes pinned on her. Beneath the cat’s round-eyed scrutiny, she punched in Linda’s number.

Linda answered on the second ring. “Well, hello, girl! I was sure happy to see your name pop up on the caller ID. We miss you around here. How are things in Kansas?”

Suzanne released a sigh. “Things are confusing. Do you have a few minutes?”

Scuffling noises carried through the receiver, letting Suzanne know Linda was settling in for a long chat. “Absolutely. Tell me all about it.”

Suzanne spilled everything, starting with how difficult she found it to feel comfortable in the small community after her lengthy time away, how Clete and Shelley seemed to hold her at arm’s length, and finally how hard it was to deal with her mother. “She’s so unappreciative and gruff. Nothing I do pleases her. It’s almost as if she thinks if she’s unhappy, then everyone has to be unhappy, too.”

Linda’s throaty chuckle filled Suzanne’s ear. “Reminds me of a little painted shingle I saw at a gift shop. It said, ‘If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.’ ”

Despite her frustration, Suzanne laughed. The cat shot back under the bench. “Send that to me and I’ll give it to her for her birthday.” She sobered. “To be honest, Linda, there are times I want to snap at her. I know it won’t do any good, and I know it isn’t respectful, but she tries my patience so badly. I’m afraid one of these times I’m going to lose patience completely and say something I’ll regret.”

“Aww, Suzanne …” Linda’s tone, soft and soothing, delivered as much comfort as a hug. “Lemme ask you something. Do you think maybe some of your frustration with your mama is leftover resentment from all those years ago when she made you go away?”

Suzanne considered her friend’s question. Although she and her mother had exchanged yearly letters, they’d always been dutiful missives lacking any hint of their thoughts or feelings. She and Mother had never discussed the pain of that time or the subsequent months at the unwed mothers’ home when Suzanne pined away with loneliness and felt weighted beneath a burden of guilt larger than her swelling belly. She’d never received her mother’s advice on how
to comfort a colicky baby or been able to share her delight in all the little milestones Alexa conquered. Over the years, the pain of being sent away in anger and condemnation had become secondary to the imbedded hurt and regret of being isolated from the ones who should have been her support and encouragement. In her heart, she’d forgiven her mother. But she hadn’t forgotten.