Hidden Mercies (35 page)

“Good!” Elizabeth said. “It would serve them right. I’ll pay you the same amount that Tom was paying.”

“What about the stairs?”

“I am much stronger. I go up and down the stairs all the time nowadays. Most of the time to get away from Grace and Levi.”

“You are welcome, my old friend, to the use of my apartment—but I will not charge you rent.”

“Of course you will.”

“No, I won’t. I mean it, Elizabeth.”

“Maybe we could work out a trade,” Elizabeth said. “Now
that I’m driving again, I’m going to do a lot of it. I’ll take you on all your birthing calls and it won’t cost you a cent.”

Claire wasn’t entirely sure what would be the most dangerous—her buggy or Elizabeth’s driving. The woman had one wheel right now in the middle of one of her flower beds.

“We’ll discuss that later. Right now I am most concerned about Levi and Grace. You’re around them more than me. What in the world can we do to help those two?”

“Levi doesn’t know how to be
Englisch,
and Grace doesn’t want to be Amish. Each one of them has a foot firmly planted in the culture in which they were raised. Even their attempts to please each other seem to backfire.”

“Like what?”

“Like that big-screen TV Levi dragged in. Grace had said she would like to be able to watch a show from time to time, and he overreacted. Now we’ve got that monstrosity up on the wall in our living room, and Levi is the only one watching it.”

“My Levi?” Claire was incredulous. “Watching television?”

Elizabeth patted her hand. “He’s practically addicted to it, Claire. It’s the oddest thing. It’s kind of like a disease. I think he never developed an immunity to it when he was little, and now he can’t seem to take his eyes off it.”

“What sort of things does he watch?” Claire was worried. This didn’t sound like her son at all.

“Well, he decided to get satellite, and now he’s got like a zillion stations to choose from. He keeps it on the History Channel and nature shows the most—you know how hungry he always was for learning.”

“Always.” Yes, she could understand how Levi could become addicted to such things. “How is Grace handling it?”

“Not well. I doubt that when she married Levi, she expected to have to compete with a television for his attention,
but that’s what it’s come down to. I think it’s also a sort of a cushion against the disaster of their marriage. Grace is a fighter. Levi is not. The more he watches, the less time he spends arguing with Grace.”

“What do these two need to happen for things to get better?”

“I think they both need to be whopped upside the head with a two-by-four, myself, but moving out is the best idea I can come up with. Neither one of them is listening to a word I say. Last time Becky came home from college, she told them that unless they got their act together, she wasn’t looking forward to coming home again. If I have to choose between Levi and Grace, right now, my choice is Becky.”

“When do you want to move in?” Claire asked.

“I’m ready right now.” Elizabeth stood up, and to Claire’s astonishment, began to sing. “My bags are packed, I’m ready to go. I’m standing here outside your door. When you wake up . . . oh, never mind, you don’t listen to the radio, do you?”

“No.” There were times when she honestly had no idea what Elizabeth was talking about.

“Sorry, but that song has been playing in my head all morning.” Elizabeth’s voice suddenly sounded frail. “I’m wondering if they’ll even notice that I’m not sitting at the supper table tonight.”

•   •   •

When Levi came hunting Elizabeth, Claire was primed and ready for him.

“Hi,
Maam
,” Levi greeted her. “I haven’t seen Elizabeth all day. I was coming down to ask if you’d seen her. Now I discover that her car’s here. What’s going on?”

“She’s moved out.”

“What?”

“She’s moved out of her own house and into your old apartment.”

“Why on earth would she do that? I built her a perfectly good
Daadi Haus
.”

“I believe she’s trying to make a point.”

“And what would that point be?”

“That she can’t bear to live with you and Grace anymore. She says you fight all the time.”

Levi didn’t meet her eyes. “Not all the time.”

“You loved Grace enough to leave the religion of your forefathers for her.”

“She wasn’t the only reason,” he argued.

“No, but the thoughts of getting to marry her certainly did not hurt, did it?”

“No. I love Grace.”

“From what I can see, you’re trying to change everything you loved about her.”

“That’s not true.”

“It certainly looks like it to me.”

“You don’t understand. She won’t follow my lead in anything. I’m supposed to be the head of our family—and Grace always wants to do something different from what I propose. Grace insists on trying to wear the pants in our family.”

“Perhaps that is because Grace knows more about living in the
Englisch
world than you.”

Levi looked like a thundercloud.

“I know I opposed your marriage, but Grace is the single most valiant woman I’ve ever known in my life, even if she isn’t Amish. I wish you could have seen her fighting to save Zillah’s life. . . .”

He wasn’t listening. “She wants to help take care of our finances.”

“So?”

“That’s the husband’s job.”

Claire sighed. “Oh, Levi.”

“Well, it is.”

“Who says?”

“Everyone knows it is supposed to be that way, and Grace wants to work even after the baby comes.”

“And why shouldn’t she?”

“That is not the way it is supposed to be.”

“Who says? I have a two-year-old. I work.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t. Grace has a God-given talent, and from what I’ve seen so far of her cooking and gardening, she has only one talent—but it’s a big one. You cannot control Grace’s actions, but you can control your own. You’re one of the smartest men I’ve ever known, Levi. Use that good brain to figure out how to stay married—and how to be happy—with the woman you vowed to love and cherish forever.”

“But, if Grace would just . . .”

Claire had loved her son from the moment she knew he had been conceived—but right now, she wanted to shake him.

“If Grace would just . . . nothing!” She stomped her foot. “
You
figure out what’s wrong.
You
figure out a way to fix it.
You
figure out how to change you—and then maybe Grace won’t feel like she’s got to fight you for every inch of dignity she has left.”

At that moment, Elizabeth walked into the room. “I saw your car,” she said. “I figured you were coming to talk me into coming back. I’m not coming back. The two of you are driving me nuts.”

“No,” Levi said, “I think it would be best for you to stay here for now. I need to get some things straight with Grace. And it probably would be best if you were not there to hear it.”

H
is mission tonight was simple—fly the president of the United States from Andrews Air Force Base to the helipad at the White House.

At the moment, three decoy helicopters, exact replicas of the one he was flying, flew in tight formation around him, changing position at regular intervals, creating the shell game that he and the other
Marine One
pilots played every time they carried the leader of the free world.

Now you see
Marine One
. Now you don’t.

It was an expensive and elaborate precaution the military put into place to protect their commander in chief from attack. At the very least, it gave the president a three-in-four chance of survival if terrorists guessed wrong.

Tonight, Rick Justice was his copilot and Tom was happy to have him beside him. Rick was a veteran with more than a thousand hours of flight time under his belt. Like Tom, much of that time had been logged flying into and over the unfriendly valleys of Afghanistan.

Several people rode with the president, including the staff seeing to his and the first lady’s needs. If they wanted a grilled cheese sandwich or the special coffee the first couple preferred, it would be available. A doctor would be aboard,
as well. In fact, the presidential jet,
Air Force One,
which had landed a few minutes earlier at Andrews Air Force Base, had a fully equipped operating room on board, just in case.

Until the president was safely inside the White House, neither Tom nor any of the other pilots would relax their vigilance. The small, elite group not only had years of training and experience, these men and women who had something more—some ingrained instinct, an extra something that made a helicopter feel like an extension of their own body.

“Clear sky tonight,” Rick said through his mic.

“Great flying weather,” Tom said.

The weather was not just clear, it was perfect. The star-lit sky was crystal clear. His bird, like all the other
Marine One
helicopters, was maintained and working—as always—with the precision of a Swiss watch.

Like the pilots, only the best of the best mechanics were chosen to care for the helicopters that transported the president.

Rick was right. It was wonderful flying weather. This was the kind of night in which Tom wished he could stay in the sky forever.

Tom had come to the conclusion that this particular president was going to do well. He might even have the wisdom to figure out a way to cool down the fever that always seemed to be raging in the Middle East—if they could keep him alive.

Yes, his mission was simple—to get the president safely from Andrews Air Force Base to the White House. And yet with every crackpot in the world wanting to kill your passenger—nothing was simple. Every second took complete focus and unending vigilance.

And that was the problem. Something had changed, and it wasn’t physical. The change was more subtle, and had taken some time to figure out.

For most of his military life, he had only himself to consider. The fact that he had little to lose, combined with a razor-sharp intellect and well-trained instincts, had given him a fearlessness—an edge that many pilots with families couldn’t achieve. It gave him an uncanny mastery over whatever craft he was flying. He could practically turn himself into a calculating machine when necessary. Clearheaded. Laser-beam focus. That ability was one of the many reasons he was able to perform so superbly.

Now when he flew, he couldn’t stop seeing the faces of the people he’d left behind.

He had not written that letter to his father after all. Once he got to Washington and thought it through, it seemed like the coward’s way out. He needed to look his father right in the eyes when he told him that he was Tobias. He did not want to die in a helicopter crash until he could do that. Amy would be devastated if anything happened to him, and that was one little girl who had endured enough heartache for a lifetime. And Claire—he had known he would miss her, but he’d had no earthly idea how much.

It was as though he had become a family man when he wasn’t looking, and now his life mattered because
he
mattered to so many people.

•   •   •

The young man who rode up to her house looked familiar. It was Abel, Dorcas’s husband, the young man she had been so impressed with. He was leading a horse behind him.

“Are Dorcas and the baby all right?” She could think of no other reason this young man should have come.

“
Ja
. They are fine. I have come because you delivered my son. I did not have the money to pay you then. I do not have the money to pay you now.”

“That is okay, Abel. I know it is hard for young couples. I only take donations, and then only if a family can afford it.”

“I have heard word that you are in need of a new horse? One that is younger than the standardbred you have now?” He glanced at Flora, standing near the fence.

“I am.”

“I did some carpentry work for a man yesterday. When I knew you needed a horse, I asked for a young horse from him instead of my pay. He said he would be happy to give me this one. The horse’s name is Copycat. Dorcas and I want you to have him for helping birth our son.”

Like all Amish, she had dealt with horses her whole life and could see this one was
en guta Gaul,
a good horse, well muscled, and appeared to be a prize. She could not accept it from this young couple.

“This is
en guta Gaul
! It is worth much more than my midwife services,” she said. “I cannot possibly accept him from you.”

“That is all right, then.” Abel grinned. “Because he is worth much more than the carpentry I did.” He handed her the reins. “Please, he is yours. We are so grateful for our son. We wish to pay the woman who delivered him with such kindness and so skillfully.”

The horse was beautiful. She could hardly tear her eyes away, she wanted it so badly. Best of all, if she accepted Copycat, she would be able to send Tom’s big fat check, which she had not cashed, back to him. Thanks be to God, as well as a young Amish carpenter, she no longer needed that
Englisch
man’s charity.

“I need to tell you, though, Copycat is not like any other horse I’ve ever known.” Abel laughed.

“Oh, really? How?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s smarter than most horses.”

“In what way?”

“He likes to play hide-and-seek.”

“I’ve never known a horse to do that.”

“I don’t think he believes he’s a horse.” Abel was still grinning as he wheeled his horse around. “He thinks you can’t see him, even if he’s hiding behind a skinny little tree.”

That was indeed strange behavior, but she was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.

“I will accept this horse with thanks,” she said. “But only if you agree that I can deliver your next baby for free.”

“I will not turn that offer down,” Abel said.
“Gut Gleck.”

“Good luck to you, too, Abel. And thanks.”

When she led Copycat out into the pasture, he lay down, rolled over, and gave his back a good scratching by twisting and rolling around in the grass. Then he got up, shook his head, and began to crop the new, spring grass, completely ignoring old Flora.