The Mercy (3 page)

I
t was apparent to Rose that her cousin Melvin Glick hadn’t slept much the night before. He and his father stood with the other men in line on the far right side of the brick farmhouse early Sunday morning. The deep pockets beneath Melvin’s eyes marred his usually pleasant countenance. Rose inched forward toward the women’s entrance to the temporary house of worship, Hen and Mattie Sue beside her. As was her sister’s way since returning home nearly four months ago, Hen did not sit with Rose during the meetings, because she was not a baptized church member—and could not become one unless Brandon joined church with her. Thus Rose would sit close to the front, while Hen sat in the back with Mattie Sue and the visitors and youth who hadn’t yet bowed their knee to make their lifelong pledge to God and the church.

Rose glanced at Melvin again and saw that he was staring at Rebekah Bontrager, just ahead of her in line. Well, goodness! Though she hadn’t told it around, hadn’t word already rolled through the grapevine about Rebekah and Silas Good?

Hours later, during the shared meal after Preaching, Rose again spotted Melvin gazing longingly at Rebekah, who sat with Silas’s unmarried sisters, Sarah and Anna Mae. He looked quickly away when he realized Rose had spotted him.

Ach, he’s got it bad.

Hen had joined Rose at the table, where they enjoyed the cold cuts and homemade bread, peanut butter, and snitz pie. The meal after the Sunday gatherings was fairly light, intended mostly to ward off hunger pangs for the ride home. The tradition benefited the farming families who had to eventually return home to feed their animals or for afternoon milking. Rose was tempted to reach for another piece of bread and some strawberry jam, her favorite, but she disciplined herself, not wanting to grow as stout as some of the older women around the table.

What’ll my life be like as a
Maidel
if God doesn’t send along another beau?
She recalled Mamm’s encouragement to attend tonight’s Singing. But there were only a handful of fellows her age that weren’t spoken for, and her cousin Melvin was one of them. Of course, he didn’t count. Even if he weren’t her cousin, she wouldn’t even think of pairing up with someone so obviously smitten with someone else.

Hen broke into Rose’s thoughts. “Brandon won’t be home till later tonight,” she said softly. “Again . . .”

He had been gone all day last Sunday, too, Rose recalled. “Did his business partner stop by for him?”

“Jah, he and Bruce headed off this morning, no doubt to get caught up on some work. He told me the plan at breakfast.” Hen paused, looking away. “It made Mattie Sue cry.”

Rose felt bad for her dear niece, but she’d never really expected her brother-in-law to attend one of their Preaching services. “Bruce will look after him, jah?”

“I’m sure he will, but it makes no difference to Mattie Sue,” Hen said. “Brandon has no interest in keeping the Lord’s Day holy—and she knows it.”

“Well, Mattie Sue knows he’s never attended church with you before.”

“Still.” Hen nodded thoughtfully as she spread peanut butter on her bread. “She’s got to be feeling uncertain about things, about the future.” She sighed. “Just as I am.”

“Understandable,” Rose murmured. Her sister looked as wilted as a daisy before a good rain. Wilted and dejected.
What must it be like to be unequally yoked with an unbeliever?

“I thought maybe Bishop Aaron’s visit might’ve helped Brandon . . . somehow.”

“
Bishop
came to see him?”

“Jah.” Hen smiled sadly. “I guess I’ll always think of him that way, too.”

“S’pose we all will.” Rose went on to say she’d seen Aaron coming toward the house on Friday, braving the snow. “Thought he might have headed over to see our grandparents.”

“No, he came seeking out my husband. Still hard to believe.” Hen added, “And Brandon says he might come see him again.”

Rose found this heartening, though altogether unexpected— from even a soon-to-be former minister toward an Englischer. It was as if Aaron hoped to win Brandon to the church somehow. She wondered what other bishops might do in a situation like this, knotty as it was.

“I wish Brandon wouldn’t go off with his business partner and work on a Sunday, of all things.”

“Well, it’s not like either of them is Amish.”

Hen’s face drooped further. She looked as sad as when she’d first arrived at Dat’s farm, back in early October.

Rose hated to think what it would do to her sister when Brandon left for good, as surely he would once he was well. Hen had to live with this niggling concern. Most likely went to bed with it and awakened with the thought each and every day—a continual reminder, like the constant ticking of a clock.

“Brandon’s talked about putting the house in town up for sale,” Hen said through tight lips.

“Well, why?”

“He’d get a smaller place if we end up . . .” She shook her head, her hair gleaming in the light from the window. “The house is in his name, so I guess he can do what he wants with it.”

Rose searched her sister’s solemn face. “Ya honestly think he’d sell it?”

“Possibly.”

“But . . . while he’s recovering . . . and can’t see?” asked Rose. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Since when does any of this make sense?” Hen sighed. “I guess it’s not my place to worry—I mean, look at me.”

“Because you don’t live there?”

Hen nodded, blinking back tears.

Rose slipped her arm around Hen. “Oh, sister . . . I’m so sorry.”

Hen turned away from the table to blow her nose. “Even though I don’t want to move back, thinking of Brandon’s selling our house really bothers me. And I don’t know what will happen with Mattie Sue—what the court will decide if he still pursues a divorce.”

“Well, let’s trust it won’t come to that. Surely God’s workin’ on his heart.”

Hen made no reply. She sat there like an empty husk, not moving and scarcely breathing, or so it seemed.

Was it a good thing to encourage Hen to embrace hope? Rose knew what God expected of a marriage vow—that it was to be kept, honored. Yet would the tender shoot of hope sprouting in Hen’s heart lead her to more heartache?

It wasn’t because she felt ready to pair up again at Singing that Rose picked her way over the snowy road that evening, nor did going have anything to do with Mamm’s suggestion the other day. She’d decided to go because she wanted to visit with her girl cousins. Besides, she was tired of being largely stuck in the house due to all the snow and cold.

Right away cousins Mary, Sadie, and Sarah greeted her just inside the upper-level barn door. The three sisters told her about a farm and house sale the second Saturday in February, at the elder Kings’ on Ridge Road. “It’s within walking distance of your house, Rosie,” Mary said, insisting Rose just had to go. Sadie and Sarah nodded their heads in agreement.

“There’ll be lots of perty dishes for sale,” Sarah added.

“And anyway, ain’t so
gut
to pine away for a fella,” Sadie whispered suddenly, glancing over at the cluster of young men across the barn.

“Not to worry,” Rose replied, but even as she said it, she knew there were times when she felt rather blue. Still, she wouldn’t wish Silas Good back. That was quite settled between them, and while her cousins certainly knew more about her situation than she would’ve expected, the girls might not realize that Rose had been the one to break things off with Silas.

Sarah asked her to sit with them, and Rose happily agreed. Pretty Sarah had been seen riding with their younger preacher’s nephew lately, and her heart-shaped face flushed whenever she allowed her gaze to follow the particularly handsome fellow across the way.
Too young for me,
thought Rose, going with her cousins to the table and getting settled in before the unison singing started.

After a time, Rose noticed Silas among the older young men. He looked her way and smiled politely—a different sort of smile than when they’d courted. For that she was relieved; it made things easier for her . . . for both of them. Truly it seemed he felt not a speck of lingering regret over their parting.

When the young men made their way to the opposite side of the table, Rose would have been blind not to notice blond Hank Zook and dark-haired Ezra Lapp looking at her. Good friends since childhood, Hank and Ezra both sat across the table from Rose and her cousins. Younger though they were, Rose suspected both boys might be feeling a little sorry for her. She’d noticed in the past that Ezra especially was quick to befriend any girl who appeared not to have a ride.

Then and there, she decided that no matter what Ezra said or how pleasantly he smiled at her, she would not go riding with him tonight. Appealing as it might be to accept an invitation from a potential beau rather than walk home through the snow and ice, Rose wouldn’t allow herself to be the object of pity.

Sure enough, when the hour had grown quite late, Ezra did seek her out, and Rose politely declined. She was more surprised when Hank asked her, as well, so much so that she agreed to go with him as the other fellows and girls paired up and left the barn. Silently, she fell into step with Hank, wondering if, lonely though she was, she was doing the right thing as they walked to his waiting carriage.

“Mighty cold tonight, ain’t?” Hank offered to help her into his open buggy.

She nodded, hoping he’d brought along plenty of woolen lap robes.
Like Silas always did. . . .

Once they were settled inside, she realized it was snowing again.
A blessing,
she thought. Like all farmers, her father had taught her to accept the weather with gratitude no matter what the Good Lord sent their way. She was glad, however, for the extra layers of clothes she’d worn beneath her coat and dress, and thankful for her outer bonnet, which shielded her face from the heavy flakes that were coming fast now.

“Hope ya didn’t think I was too
vorwitzich—
bold—comin’ over and talking to you, Rose Ann.”

“Thought nothin’ of it.”

Hank exhaled, clearly relieved. “I won’t keep you out too long, since it’s so chilly.”

She thanked him. Of course, had it been Nick, he would’ve simply bundled her up. But she caught herself. She’d never gone courting with Nick. Why was she thinking of him?

But as Hank continued to talk, Rose’s mind kept wandering back to the days when she and Nick were best friends. Even though he’d been a troublemaker from day one—or so the People said—he had been her truest companion. Just then she wondered what Hank might think if he knew what she’d written in her secret letter to Nick.
Consorting with such a fellow.
Some even suspected him of murder. What would
any
fellow think if he knew how Nick had held her in his arms?

Hank’s voice interrupted her musing. “My mother knows your English friends, the Brownings. Mighty nice folk, she says.”

Rose told him that she, too, thought a lot of Mr. Browning and his daughter, Beth. “We looked after Beth while her father was gone last month.”

“Tending to his ailing father . . . who died, jah?”

“That’s right.”

“And Beth’s special, is what I hear.”

She was glad he’d mentioned her. “She is special, and she was such a help to our family. My Mamm is going to undergo a serious surgery because of her encouragement.”

Hank listened but didn’t seem particularly interested. And after a while, as he moved on to talk about other, more mundane things, Rose wished he would just take her home. He wasn’t Silas or Nick—and didn’t hold a candle to them when it came to handling a horse, either. She smiled to herself about the latter.

By the time they reached Dat’s farm, Rose was not only shivering but quite weary of Hank’s chatter. He’d droned on and on about the kind of farming operation he hoped to have someday. Was it to impress her? She didn’t know, but his talk was dreadfully dull and she wondered if this was the reason he was still single at nineteen.

She was quite ready to climb down from the open buggy.
“Denki. Gut Nacht.”

Hank jumped out of the carriage and hurried around to her. “I’ll see ya next time,” he said, but she’d already turned to make her way toward the house, glad she’d worn her boots. She waved her hand in a brief farewell and hoped he wouldn’t ask her to ride with him ever again.