When Mercy Rains (22 page)

She glanced around the dusty space, trying to envision what the room might have looked like when Mom was a little girl. Her active imagination allowed her to paint the woodwork bright white, hang flowered wallpaper on the walls, and decorate the space with cheerful curtains, furniture, and a rug made of braided strips of rags. Her lips twitched into a grin, picturing Mom busily stirring up pretend soup at the iron stove and serving it to her dolls.

“Alexa?”

Mom’s quiet voice chased the cheerful images into hiding. Alexa turned slowly and met her mother’s gaze. Very little light made its way past the filthy windows, but even in the shadows Alexa recognized sadness in Mom’s eyes. No amount of imagination could change that reality. And what she needed to say would only make Mom sadder, but she had to say it. She had to
do
it. She’d spent too many years wondering and hoping to give up on gaining her family now.

“Mom, I know you’re upset with me.” She dove into the subject without
preamble, still standing in the middle of the dusty floor with cobwebs swaying over her head like a jellyfish’s stingers. “And I’m sorry that I upset you. But I’m not ready to go yet. I don’t know them yet. They don’t know me. I want more time here. I need it.”

Mom reached out and caught the arched back of a chair frame as if she needed something to hold her upright. “I’m sorry I haven’t been enough family for you, Alexa.”

Anger stirred in Alexa’s chest. Mom’s comment felt manipulative—too much like Grandmother had been when they’d first arrived and how Aunt Shelley was all the time. She expected better from Mom. “Don’t.”

Mom arched one brow.

“Don’t try to make me feel guilty.”

Mom lowered her head. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said it that way—like a petulant child.” She looked into Alexa’s face again. “But I’m frightened. Your entire life, it’s been you and me … and God. I put my focus on raising you and loving you. Every day I prayed that I would be able to fill your need for mother and father and brothers and sisters. So it hurts to realize how much I failed.”

“You didn’t—”

“I must have, or you wouldn’t choose them over me.”

“I’m not choosing them over you, Mom. I’m choosing them in addition to you.” Alexa crossed the floor, kicking up dust as she came, and grabbed her mother’s cold hands. “Why does it have to be one or the other? Now that they finally know I was born and that you kept me, why can’t I have both you and them? It isn’t a competition.”

“Not to you maybe, but—” Mom’s voice broke. She squeezed Alexa’s hands so hard her fingers ached. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You aren’t going to lose me.” Alexa felt as though she were the grownup comforting a child. Although she didn’t understand her mother’s fear, she recognized its depth in Mom’s frantic grip on her hands and in the pallor of her face. “You’re my mother. Nothing can change that.”

Mom let go of Alexa’s hands and grabbed her in a fierce embrace. Mom’s shoulders shuddered with silent sobs and Alexa clung hard, offering assurance with her hug. “Promise me, Alexa.” Mom choked out the words. “Promise you’ll always be my daughter.”

Confused and more than a little frightened by her mother’s desperate plea, she managed to speak firmly. “I promise, Mom.”

Mom held tight for several more seconds before finally relaxing her grip. She stepped back and quickly wiped the tears from her face. Then she cupped Alexa’s cheeks. A sad smile tugged at her lips. “I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course.” Alexa answered promptly, but she wasn’t entirely sure why Mom needed forgiveness.

Mom seemed to wilt. She took a step back and pulled in a long, slow breath. As she expelled the air, color returned to her cheeks, making her look more like herself. Her before-coming-to-Arborville self. “I think I’ll go in and lie down. Will you wake me when you wake your grandmother? Then I’ll make sandwiches and cut up some fruit for supper.”

“Sure.” Alexa watched her mother until she disappeared inside the house, then she sank onto one of the rickety chairs to replay their conversation. Given Mom’s fear, even though it seemed irrational, maybe she should change her mind and go back to Indiana when Mom went. Her heart hurt as she considered forfeiting the chance to really know and become a part of the extended Zimmerman family.

She was much older than her cousins, so she couldn’t be their playmate, but she could be something like an aunt or older sister to them. Sandra had already begun treating her like a younger sister, and Shelley might grow to accept her. Eventually. With time. As for Clete … She chewed her lip. She wasn’t sure what to make of Uncle Clete. He was pleasant, never gruff or rude to her, but he held himself apart from Mom and from her. How did one break down a man’s barriers? Not having any other male relatives, she really wanted to know Uncle Clete.

Grandmother, in spite of her snappishness and complaints, had found a place in her life for Alexa, and she didn’t want to give up the newfound kinship. But if it was so hurtful for Mom, should she? Alexa rose and ambled around the room, idly running her fingers over torn edges of wallpaper and the dust-covered surfaces while her thoughts continued to roll.

They’d only been in Arborville eleven days. Eleven days was not enough time, given the years of separation, to develop or rebuild relationships. She didn’t want to hurt her mother, but she didn’t think Mom was being fair to her family, her daughter, or herself. Whether Mom wanted to admit it or not, she needed her family as much as Alexa wanted them. She’d been alone and on her own long enough. It was time to be a true Zimmerman again.

Alexa paced back and forth, planning what she would say to Mom when she went to wake her. She whispered the words, sampling the right vocal inflection to be kind yet convincing. “You have enough leave to stay here for the whole two months, so why not use it? Think of it as one month for every decade of absence—that’s a small price to pay to make up for lost time, isn’t it? The longer you’re here, the more comfortable your sisters and brother—”

She shook her head. She should mention Grandmother first. “The more comfortable your mother, brother, and sisters will become with you. And, of course, the more comfortable you’ll become with them.” Her feet sped in their journey back and forth, and she began gesturing, her hands stirring the musty air. “As you told Grandmother, you’re really strangers right now. It’ll take time to get to know each other again, but it’ll be time well spent. Life is short. Family is important. Take the time, Mom. Take the time …”

She paused, her brow furrowing, as she imagined her mother’s response. Linda always called Mom determined, but Alexa knew it was pure stubbornness. Once Mom set her mind to something, she followed through. An admirable trait most of the time, but right now? Alexa wanted her mother to tuck her obstinacy in a drawer. She might need to offer a compromise of sorts to change Mom’s mind.

At once an idea struck. She hugged herself and giggled as the idea grew.
She’d need help. Tanya would help, and Sandra would, too. It might take some real pushing to get Clete and Shelley involved, but Sandra—cute, sweet, pregnant Sandra—would be the most likely one to win them over.

Tomorrow was Sandra’s turn to bring supper out to the farm. As soon as her mother’s youngest sister arrived, Alexa would take her aside and share her plan. She smiled, envisioning Sandra’s happy laugh and quick agreement. With a light step, Alexa headed for the house. She
would
reunite Mom with her family, and she
would
secure a place for herself in their affections. Once she’d accomplished those goals, then she would be willing to go back to Indiana. Then everyone would be happy.

Paul

Monday morning, instead of parking in the back, Paul pulled his pickup up, tailgate first, to the front of the house. He’d loaded the bed with treated lumber, a post-hole digger, paint, and everything else he needed to complete the second wheelchair ramp.

As much as he disliked leaving the kitchen in such a mess, he couldn’t resist taking advantage of the pleasant late-spring days to work outside. The back-porch ramp had been a one-day project given its simple concrete slab construction. But the one in the front would include two long stretches running parallel with the porch and turning at a landing. The front-porch floor stood three feet higher than the ground, so a single ramp with a 1/12 pitch would extend too far into the yard and look, as Danny had laughingly said, like a long tongue sticking out.

After making several sketches on graph paper, he finally created a design that would be functional but would also blend in with the porch. Clete hadn’t said anything about making the ramp pretty, but the old farmhouse with its wraparound porch surrounded by a railing and sawn balusters possessed a charm Paul didn’t wish to destroy. Mrs. Zimmerman might actually allow
someone to repaint the house and repair the broken decorative brackets. When that day came, he didn’t want someone pointing at the ramp and complaining about its ungainly appearance.

The front ramp would take at least two days to build. Maybe more. He wanted to have it done by the time school let out the twenty-second of May. After that, he’d have Danny with him every day. He could keep his son busy inside with sweeping sawdust, collecting nails, and the other little tasks that stole Paul’s construction time. None of those activities were potentially dangerous or too difficult for a nine-year-old. But the ramp? It involved cutting and fitting two-by-fours, securing balusters into a frame, careful measuring and focus. With Danny underfoot, he’d be distracted and the boy might try to use some of the power tools out of curiosity. It was better to finish the ramp on his own.

As he unloaded his pickup, the front door opened and Suzy’s daughter stepped out on the porch. She held a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate with some sort of crumbly cake and a fork in the other. She moved to the edge of the porch and held both items toward Paul. “Would you like some breakfast? Cinnamon-apple streusel coffeecake …”

He’d already eaten a bowl of cold cereal before taking Danny to school, but who could resist an invitation like that one? Paul dropped the load of lumber he’d lifted from the truck’s bed and brushed his hands on his pant legs as he crossed to the bottom of the risers. The closer he got to the plate, the richer the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg became. He grinned and took the cup and plate. “According to Jay, you’re a better baker than Tanya, and she has a reputation for being one of the best in Arborville.”

The girl blushed. “Well, lucky for you, Mom made the coffee. I can’t figure out the percolator. Ovens are pretty standard, though, and anyone can operate one.”

Paul wouldn’t know. He tended to purchase frozen casseroles and canned vegetables. Maybe he and Danny didn’t eat as healthy as most families in Arborville, but they hadn’t starved, either. He sat on the lowest riser, set the coffee cup
beside his hip, then bowed his head over the plate. When he lifted his head after praying, he discovered Alexa had sat on the top riser on the opposite side of the stairs. Having her so near, with no one around as chaperone, left him with an uneasy feeling. Would Suzy approve?

Before he could suggest she go back inside, she said, “Mr. Aldrich, may I ask you a question? It’s about the Old Order religion.”

Paul forked up a bite of the moist cake, giving himself a moment to contemplate her request. No one would consider talking about religion unseemly. He nodded.

“Do you celebrate birthdays?”

Paul almost choked on his bite. He’d expected her to ask about doctrine or why the women wore caps or … something. The subject of birthdays hardly seemed religious in nature. He held back a laugh and answered as seriously as she’d asked. “Yes, we do.”

The girl blew out a big breath, a smile breaking over her face. When she smiled, her brown eyes sparkled, bringing out their golden flecks. She was pretty even though she didn’t look anything like Suzy or the other Zimmermans. “I’m so glad. You see, I have this idea, but last night I woke up wondering if it was even allowed. Some religious groups, like the Jehovah’s Witnesses, don’t celebrate birthdays, you know. And even though Mom and I were here on Mother’s Day, nobody brought Grandmother flowers or a card or anything. So I didn’t know if I should even mention it to Sandra, which I planned to do this evening, until I knew for sure. So your answer makes me very happy.”

Paul teasingly reamed his ear with his fingertip and squinted at her. “Huh?”

She laughed again, seeming no older than Danny’s age. “I’m sorry. Mom scolds me all the time about getting carried away. But when I’m excited about something, I just get, well, gung-ho!”

Paul took another bite of the cake, enjoying the way the cinnamon lingered in his mouth. “So … what are you all gung-ho about?”

Alexa looked right and left before leaning forward slightly and whispering, “A surprise party for Grandmother.”

Paul swallowed the last of his cake and drowned it with coffee. He wasn’t one to put a damper on someone’s excitement, but he wasn’t sure hosting a surprise party for Mrs. Zimmerman was a good idea. The surprise might end up being on Alexa when the woman spouted in irritation and sent everyone out of the house. She hadn’t welcomed visitors in years.