When Mercy Rains (20 page)

“Oh, his first catch!” Abigail’s voice blared out. She patted her lips with her napkin, bringing herself under control. She aimed her face at Sandra but watched Paul and Suzy out of the corner of her eye. “That pond has given youngsters their first fishing experience for years. It seems like only yesterday Suzanne came home, filthy dirty and smelling like she’d rolled in a half-dozen dead fish on a riverbank. She had a string of perch in her hand and a grin on her face. She was eight. No, nine. And she’d spent the afternoon fishing with …” She pretended to search her memory, then turned her smile on the pair of now grown-up fishermen. “With you, Paul, am I right?”

Neither Suzy nor Paul smiled. In fact, it appeared they ceased to breathe for several seconds. Then Paul swallowed, offered a brief, stiff semblance of a smile, and nodded. “Yeah, probably. Suzy—Suzanne and me … we did some fishing at the pond.”

“Oh, not just some,” Abigail corrected, a genuine chuckle rumbling at his sheepish look. “I recall a couple of summers when you two went fishing nearly every day.”

Alexa sent her mother a speculative look. “You liked fishing, Mom? You’ve never seemed all that outdoorsy to me.”

“Well, I suppose—”

Abigail cut off Suzanne’s reply. “When your mother was a girl, she was half tomboy. Always running off to climb trees or ride bicycles or drop a fishing line. And more often than not, she was with Paul. The two of them were a little Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher all the way through junior high school.” She sighed, true regret giving it a heaviness that surprised her. “Those were good days.” She pinned Suzy with a firm look. “Weren’t they?”

Her daughter’s cheeks flamed red. “I … I suppose they were.” She glanced at Paul, who glanced back, then they both ducked their heads.

Abigail tamped down another chortle. She’d managed to get their memories rolling. But she shouldn’t push. She’d be quiet now. She cleaned her plate—Shelley was an excellent cook—while the grandchildren shared their stories
about fishing, some of which were no doubt more fiction than fact, but the adults laughed and encouraged the tales anyway.

Shelley, who’d remained quiet throughout the entire meal, rose. “Suzanne, would you help me cut the cakes Alexa brought? It’s time to serve dessert.”

How dare Shelley interfere with Abigail’s matchmaking scheme by pulling Suzy away from Paul! That girl was far too self-centered for her own good. Abigail snapped a suggestion. “Why not have Sandra help you?”

Shelley raised one eyebrow and met Abigail’s glare with one of her own. “Because Suzanne doesn’t have a toddler and isn’t seven months into a pregnancy.” She headed for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Keep your forks, everyone, but stack everything else off to the side. Suzanne, hurry, please.”

Abigail seethed in silence as Suzy and Alexa both followed Shelley into the kitchen. If Shelley said something hurtful and forced Suzy to turn tail and run, she’d never forgive the girl.

Suzanne

Suzanne’s hand trembled as she pressed a knife through the layers of one of the two matching chocolate cakes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d make a mess of Alexa’s beautiful creation. But her stomach churned in intense nervousness, making her quiver from head to toe. What had compelled Mother to talk about the time she’d spent with Paul when she was younger? She’d seen Alexa perk up, taking in every word and giving her questioning looks. She didn’t want ideas planted in her daughter’s head.

“Cut half servings for the children,” Shelley instructed as she clanked plates onto the counter next to Suzanne, her strident voice sounding like Mother’s. “They don’t need so much sugar.”

Suzanne glanced at her younger sister. Her sour expression matched the one their mother usually wore. Mother was older, widowed, and confined to a
wheelchair, all reasons to be irritable. Shelley was still young—not yet thirty—but she behaved like an embittered old woman. What had happened to the bashful, sweet-natured little girl Suzanne remembered? Thinking of the little sister she’d once known, she answered kindly. “I will. Should I slice larger pieces for the men than for the women?”

“I don’t care. But don’t cut one for me.” Shelley poured water into the coffee percolator. “Chocolate gives me indigestion.”

Alexa looked up from the cake she was cutting. “I’m sorry, Aunt Shelley. I wish I’d known. I made chocolate because Grandmother likes it so much.”

Shelley sniffed, plopping the percolator on the stove. “It doesn’t really matter.” She wiped her hands down her starched apron, her chin high. “As long as Mother and everyone else is happy with chocolate, I’ll be fine.” She marched out of the kitchen into the dining room, calling, “Who will want coffee with their cake?”

Alexa whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me Aunt Shelley doesn’t like chocolate? I could have made a carrot cake or strawberry tarts instead of the second chocolate cake. Now I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad.” Suzanne sensed Shelley wanted them to feel guilty. Why play into her childish tantrum? “To be honest, I didn’t know chocolate gave her indigestion.”
“How could you possibly know …”
Clete’s words came back to haunt her, and despite her determination not to give way to guilt, the emotion washed through her. But she wouldn’t let it touch Alexa. “You made two beautiful cakes with no motivation other than kindness and complete sincerity. If Shelley can’t appreciate the effort, it’s her problem, not yours.”

Alexa smiled weakly. “Thanks, Mom.”

Another thought occurred to Suzanne. “In fact, go peek in the refrigerator.”

With a puzzled expression, Alexa crossed to the refrigerator and opened the door.

“Is there anything that looks like a dessert?”

Alexa leaned down, and the sound of aluminum foil being peeled back
reached Suzanne’s ears. Then Alexa giggled. “There’s a whole pan of lemon bars in here.”

Suzanne grinned. “Bring them out. Shelley will have dessert after all.”

Alexa carried the pan to the counter, her smile wide. “I might have one, too. They look great.”

Suzanne peeked into the pan at the crumbly bars. “Mm, they do look good. And I bet a couple of others—” She froze, suddenly recalling Paul’s preference for lemon meringue pie. She’d baked him one for his sixteenth birthday, and he told her she could bake a lemon meringue pie every week for the rest of his life and he wouldn’t complain. Had his wife baked him lemon meringue pies?

Alexa nudged her. “Mom? You didn’t finish your sentence.”

Suzanne gave herself a mental shake and forced a smile. “Sorry. I got lost in thought there for a minute. I think some others might like a lemon bar, too. Let’s serve both.” A different kind of tremble attacked as she followed Alexa into the dining room with the plate of lemon bars in her hand. She sucked in a steadying breath, determined not to react to Paul’s face lighting in pleasure at the sight of the treat. But her concern was unfounded. The chairs where he and Danny had been sitting were empty.

An odd disappointment gripped her, but she pushed it aside and smiled as she held the plate high. “Shelley had lemon bars ready, and Alexa baked chocolate cake. Pass these bars around while Alexa and I serve the cake.”

The children finished their dessert quickly and asked to be excused. They darted out to the backyard to play while the adults savored cups of coffee with their sweets. As soon as the back door slammed behind the last child, Shelley turned to Suzanne.

“Since we’re all here and our guests have gone, can we clear the air?”

Harper touched his wife’s hand, glancing toward Alexa. “This might not be the right time.”

Shelley jerked her hand free. “She’s nineteen—all grown up. I think she can handle it.”

Sandra cupped her swollen belly and looked from Shelley to Suzanne and then to her mother. “What are you talking about?”

Mother caught the wheels of her chair and rolled it away from the table. “Shelley, if you are going to start one of your tirades, I want to go home. I’m not in any mood for it.”

Shelley gawked at Mother. “You’re the one who started it, berating us for bringing her here! Well, you need to know she doesn’t intend to stay.” She turned a condemning glare on Suzanne. “Isn’t that what you told Clete? You’re leaving?”

Alexa’s jaw dropped.

Mother, her hands still curled around the wheels, froze in place. “You’re leaving, Suzanne? When?”

Suzanne sent Clete a helpless look, but he angled his face away, his jaw clenched. Had he told Shelley with the intention of starting a family feud, or had he only needed to vent with someone? She wished she knew him well enough to understand his motives. She rounded the table and placed her hand over Mother’s arm. “I told Clete I would be leaving as soon as I made arrangements for another nurse.”

“Which she expects
us
to pay for,” Shelley inserted.

Apparently Clete had left out part of their conversation. As kindly and straightforwardly as she could, Suzanne shared with her mother everything she’d told Clete about locating qualified people. Sandra and Alexa looked stricken, Shelley seemed to simmer with contained fury, and Tanya hung her head. The men shifted in their chairs, their gazes aimed anywhere except at Suzanne. Their discomfort would have been comical had the situation been different.

Suzanne finished, “I think it’s best, Mother, to hire someone else.”

Mother glared at her. “You think it’s better for me to be with strangers?”

“You and I …” Suzanne swallowed a knot of anguish. “We’re strangers, too.”

Derek cleared his throat. “Suzanne?” He slipped his arm around his wife’s
shoulders. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed. Ever since I met Sandra, she’s talked about the sister who left when she was very small and how much she wanted to know you. She’s been so happy to have you home.”

A single sob broke from Sandra’s throat. She turned her face into her husband’s chest. He patted her back as he went on. “But I also think I understand. After all, you’ve established yourself in Indiana. That’s your home now, and we pulled you out of it. We were all thinking about what was best for us. Not what was best for you. So …” Derek glanced at the Zimmerman siblings one by one, as if waiting for one of them to confirm or deny what he’d said.

Tanya grimaced, her expression contrite. “Maybe I was being selfish, wanting someone else to take care of Mother Zimmerman. With our kids still so young, I have my hands full already. It seemed overwhelming, going out to the farm so often. Not that I don’t love you, Mother Zimmerman, but …” Her voice trailed off, too.

Shelley tossed her head, making her black ribbons dance on her shoulders. “Well, I’m not going to make some grand speech about being selfish. I haven’t been selfish. I’ve done more than my fair share, having to grow up overnight and become Mother’s helper when Suzanne left, then being nurse after Mother’s accident. I’ve put in plenty of time to this family. Just as Clete and Sandra have done. It’s Suzanne’s turn, and that’s all I have to say about it.”

Harper leaned close and whispered something to her, but Shelley shook her head and folded her arms over her chest.

Tension tingled in the room. No one spoke. Suzanne waited for Shelley to explode, for Sandra to beg, for Clete as the man of the family to take charge and say something that would settle everyone’s nerves. But they all remained closemouthed.

The back door slapped open and a child called, “Mama! Ruby fell and scraped her knee. She’s bleeding and needs a bandage.”

Shelley bolted out of her chair, mumbling, “She better not have gotten blood on her dress.” She charged around the corner and the door slammed again.

Another bout of silence fell. Finally Alexa stood. Everyone looked at her, and something in her daughter’s eyes made Suzanne’s pulse speed up. Alexa turned slowly, her gaze meeting Suzanne’s, and so many emotions that Suzanne couldn’t identify them all glittered in her dark eyes.

“I know when you asked Mom to come you weren’t inviting me here.” She looked at Sandra. “But I’ve wondered about all of you ever since I was little. I’ve wanted to meet you, to know you.” Turning to Clete, she continued in a quiet voice. “We never had the chance because you didn’t even know I’d been born.”

Alexa shifted again, this time looking at her grandmother. “I’m sorry I was the reason Mom had to go away. I’m sorry that keeping me meant she couldn’t come home. And mostly I’m sorry that you’re all so angry with each other. It’s just been Mom and me, so I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to be a big family, but I don’t think being mad is the way it’s supposed to be.”

Alexa drew in a big breath and faced Suzanne. Tears shimmered on her lashes. “Mom, I don’t blame you for wanting to go back to Indiana. If you want to go right away, I won’t stop you. But I …” She lowered her head for a moment, as if gathering courage. When she looked up, her expression seemed to entreat Suzanne for understanding. “I want to stay here. With my family.”