When Mercy Rains (21 page)

Paul

“Dad?”

Paul jerked, roused from a place of semisleep. “What?”

Danny plopped the Sugar Creek Gang mystery he’d been reading onto the sofa cushion and scowled. “Why couldn’t we have stayed longer over at the Unruh’s? I bet Jay and his cousins are having a lot of fun right now, and I could be playing with them instead of sitting here listening to you snore.”

“Was I snoring?”

“Yeah.” Danny huffed. “We didn’t even get dessert, and Jay said it was gonna be chocolate cake his cousin made. He said Alexa’s the best baker ever—even better than his mom.” He slapped his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. “That was supposed to be a secret.”

Despite the weight of discomfort still resting on his chest, Paul couldn’t hold back a short laugh. Although usually done in innocence rather than spite, Danny had never been able to resist repeating what he heard. All the more reason to have bustled him out of Harper and Shelley’s house quickly this afternoon. Given time, Mrs. Zimmerman might have shared more stories about Suzy and him, and Danny would have eventually blabbed them on the school playground or, worse, the churchyard. He’d been wise to leave early.

“It’s all right. I won’t tell Jay’s mother what he said.”

Danny slumped in relief. Then he aimed a squinty-eyed look at his father.
“But why didn’t we stay? When we go to other people’s houses for the Sunday meal, we always stay longer.” He chewed the corner of his lip. “Is it because Ruby and Pearl’s mom was so grumpy?”

“In part.” Paul pushed the footrest down on his recliner and rested his elbows on his knees. “The Zimmerman family is big, so there were a lot of people to feed. I thought we might be in the way.” He hadn’t lied to Danny, but he’d withheld a portion of the truth. He had no intention of telling his son how hard he’d found it to listen to Suzy Zimmerman’s mother reminisce about their Tom Sawyer–Becky Thatcher days. “I tell you what, when I go to work in the morning I’ll ask Alexa if there was any cake left over, and if there was, I’ll ask if I can bring you a piece for tomorrow’s supper. Okay?”

“Okay.” Danny didn’t sound cheered.

“Now what’s wrong?”

Danny sighed. “It’s not just the cake. I’m bored. I thought I’d get to play with the kids for a while. I know they’re all younger than me, but still …”

A familiar regret gripped Paul. He and Karina had wanted and prayed for a large family but they’d only had one child. As much as he thanked God for his son, there were days when he wished he’d been blessed with, as his father would have put it, a full quiver. Especially now with Karina gone, Danny often spoke of loneliness. He would have been an attentive, loving brother.

“Well, then,” Paul suggested in his brightest voice, “how about you get out the Parcheesi board?”

Danny bounced up, flipping the book onto its face. “Really?”

“Sure. See if you can skunk your ol’ dad.”

“Okay!” He took off at a trot for the hall closet where their games were stored.

Paul and Danny played three rounds of Parcheesi with Danny winning two to Paul’s one and gloating all the while. Paul laughed, teased, chatted with his son, but underneath a lingering sadness refused to leave. Danny was lonely not having any brothers or sisters. And Paul was lonely, too. Sitting at dinner tables with families, watching husbands interact with their wives, had been
painful during the first months of his widower status. But now when he saw a man slip his arm around his wife’s shoulders or lean in to whisper something meant only for her ears, he only felt deep envy. He missed having a wife. Karina had been gone for over three years already—sufficient time for the fellowship to approve Paul seeking another marriage partner.

He watched Danny roll the dice and tap his little game piece across the board. A prayer formed in the back of his heart.
Lord, guide me to the woman You would choose to become part of our family. Bring me the one who will love Danny as her own and be the partner I need. I’m ready
. Maybe, if he were very blessed, another child or two would one day call him Dad.

Suzanne

Suzanne parked the car as close to the house as possible and turned off the motor. The silence that fell with the engine’s hushed rumble nearly smothered her. None of the car’s occupants—not she, Alexa, or Mother—had spoken one word on the drive from Shelley’s to the farm.

Words hovered on her tongue. Statements of protest, declarations of worry, heart-wrenching queries. But she gritted her teeth and kept them inside because her emotions were too raw, her anger and hurt too intense to allow them to escape. She’d inflict damage if she gave her tongue free rein. So instead she silently prayed and waited for the tidal wave of hurt and confusion to pass. When she felt in control, she would talk to Alexa. But not until then.

From the backseat Mother said, “Do you suppose the ramp Paul built to the porch door is ready for use? I’d like to try it out rather than making you carry me up the front stairs.”

“Mom, do you want me to go back and check on it?” Alexa asked.

Her overly sweet tone offered evidence of how troubled she was by her mother’s stony silence, but Suzanne couldn’t find the strength to reassure her. She felt bruised and battered. And Alexa, her precious daughter, had inflicted
the blows with her spoken desire to remain here in Arborville rather than return to Indiana.

Suzanne sighed tiredly. “Go ahead. I’ll get the wheelchair from the trunk.”

Alexa darted off, leaving the passenger door open. Suzanne did the same, ignoring the car’s beeping signal that the keys were still in the ignition. The
beep … beep … beep
, shrill and obtrusive against the peacefulness of the late Sunday afternoon, should have raised a complaint from Mother, but she sat quiet and patient in the backseat. But then why shouldn’t she be happy now? She’d won. Alexa wanted to stay.

Suzanne slammed the trunk and unfolded the chair with stiff, jerky motions as Alexa trotted across the yard. An uncertain smile hovered on her lips.

“I walked up and down it twice, and it seemed firm. So I took down the ropes.” She paused, as if waiting for affirmation.

Suzanne gave the chair a push toward the car’s back door. “Fine.” Then she remembered securing the porch door. “I’ll need to unlatch the door or we won’t be able to get in through the back. Wait here.”

By the time she unlocked the front door and made her way through the house to the back porch, Alexa had already pushed Mother around the yard and was waiting at the base of the ramp.

Suzanne pulled the door inward and frowned. “How did you get her out of the car by yourself?”

Alexa sent her mother a puzzled look. “I did an assist-transfer. I know how it’s done. I’ve watched you plenty of times.”

“I told you to wait.”

Alexa drew back as if she’d been slapped. “I … I’m sorry, Mom. Grandmother was eager to see the ramp, so—”

Suzanne held up one hand. “It isn’t important. She’s here now. Bring her in.”

“I’m sitting right here listening,” Mother said, but instead of snide she sounded almost playful, “and I want to bring the chair up the ramp by myself.”
She chuckled. “Or at least try. So move back, both of you, and let me see what I can do.”

Alexa didn’t release the wheelchair’s handles. She looked at Suzanne questioningly. Suzanne doubted Mother would be able to make it all the way on her own—she’d only propelled her chair on flat surfaces—but she didn’t have the energy to argue with her. She gave a brusque nod, and after a moment’s hesitation, Alexa stepped away from the chair.

Suzanne wrung her hands and watched her mother take hold of the rubber grips and push. The chair rolled forward half a foot. Mother slipped her hands backward on the grip, and the chair inched backward half the distance. With a little grunt, Mother pushed again, repeating the forward six inches, backward three progress.

Alexa hovered behind the chair, her hands upraised and her lower lip pinched between her teeth. She caught Suzanne’s eye, asking silently,
Should I help?
Although Suzanne was tempted to nod—Mother’s face glowed bright red and the veins in her neck stood out—she shook her head. Mother wanted to be independent. They should give her the chance.

Ten minutes after she applied her hands to the grips, Mother gave the chair a final push and crossed the porch’s threshold. Alexa bounded up the ramp and wrapped her grandmother in a hug from behind. “You did it, Grandmother! You did it!”

Mother, sweat rivulets rolling down her temples, patted Alexa’s arms and turned a grin of triumph on Suzanne. “I did. I sure did.”

Suzanne didn’t add her congratulations. Because she wasn’t envisioning her mother’s success at mastering the ramp. No, her mind filled with ugly images of her mother stealing away her child. She couldn’t even muster a smile.

Mother’s broad grin faded. She gave Alexa’s arm a slight push, and Alexa straightened. Once again taking hold of the grips, Mother aimed her chair for the kitchen doorway. She rolled past Suzanne slowly, her shoulders slumped as if a load had been strapped to her back. When she reached the threshold, she
said with her face aimed forward, “Someone give me a little boost over the hump and take me to my room. I want to rest. And as soon as I’m settled, I think you two should talk.”

Once again Alexa bustled forward, usurping Suzanne’s position as helper, and gave her grandmother’s chair a push over the threshold and then through the cleared pathway in the midst of the construction mess. Suzanne trailed behind and watched Alexa roll the chair through Mother’s doorway. Then Alexa closed the door.

Soon the sound of soft voices and scuffling noises crept across the room to Suzanne’s ears. She should go in and help. She’d vowed to be Mother’s assistant until she found a full-time nurse. But her feet refused to budge. She did not want to see Mother and Alexa working together, talking together, growing together. Her chest ached. Why hadn’t she refused Clete’s request to return? She could not give up her daughter all over again.

The bedroom door opened and Alexa stood in the frame. “Have a good rest, Grandmother. I’ll wake you by five so you don’t miss supper.” Mother mumbled something in reply to which Alexa offered a light laugh, then she closed the door behind her, turned, and spotted Suzanne. The smile died on her lips.

The look of apprehension on Alexa’s face pierced Suzanne’s mother-heart. She’d put it there with her silence. Mother had suggested they talk, and as difficult as it would be to share her hurt with her daughter without divulging more than she was ready to share, they needed to talk.
Lord, let me convince her to come home with me. Please don’t let me lose her. Please, please …
 The sting of tears accompanied her plea, and she blinked rapidly.

Alexa hadn’t moved.

Suzanne forced a wobbly smile. “Did you get her settled in?”

“Yes.” Alexa glanced at her wristwatch. “I’ll wake her in an hour.”

Had she offered the time as a hint? How Suzanne hated this feeling of uncertainty, as if she’d somehow lost her connection with her daughter. “Then … how about we …” Would Alexa understand?

After a moment’s pause, Alexa nodded. “I think we should.” She angled her head, almost seeming to give a challenge. “Can we go outside, though? So we don’t bother Grandmother.”

Apparently Alexa expected a noisy argument. Suzanne didn’t have the energy for a noisy argument. She hoped she’d be able to muster enough strength to speak plainly. But the afternoon was pleasant, and the porch swing provided a good spot to sit. So outside was fine. “Of course.”

“Good.” Alexa took off toward the kitchen, moving past Suzanne in a determined stride. “Grandmother was just telling me I should visit the old summer kitchen where you played house when you were a little girl. Let’s go there.”

Alexa

She’d thought the exterior of the house was dreary, but it seemed well kept compared to the dilapidated appearance of the building Grandmother had called the summer kitchen. For a moment Alexa questioned the wisdom of entering it. Would the roof cave in? But Mom didn’t seem concerned. She forced the door open and stepped into the dim interior. So Alexa followed.