When Mercy Rains (32 page)

Alexa nodded, but she still looked sad.

Suzanne lifted the crate. “Come on. Let’s go to the cemetery, put these flowers on the graves, then you and I can stop by the convenience store and grab some pizza. I bet you haven’t had lunch.” Clete wouldn’t think to feed his niece.

“That sounds good, Mom.”

Alexa remained quiet as they drove to the cemetery. Suzanne chose not to interrupt her daughter’s inner reflections. Visiting graves affected people in different ways, and perhaps Alexa was preparing herself for her first encounter with the grandfather she’d never met. Suzanne only wished they could have met in person. Alexa would have adored Dad, who had been the favorite of every fellowship child for his friendly teasing and kind heart.

Tears stung, and she blinked the moisture away to clear her vision. She parked behind the church in the shade of the overgrown cedar tree wind block, then stacked her arms on the steering wheel and gazed out the window. The iron gates to the cemetery stretched wide like the wings of a swan welcoming its young to draw near. Beyond the gate, gray headstones—either rectangular slabs or square, tall pillars—formed a silent, disorganized army holding sentry on a bed of freshly mown grass. White clover and tiny purple flowers shaped like bells dotted the carpet of green. With flat stones creating curved footpaths and century-old trees sending dappled shade across the graves, the cemetery seemed a peaceful place. Even as a child, Suzanne had never been hesitant to wander the grounds the way some children were. Eagerness to revisit this place of childhood memories now tugged at her, and she swung her car door open.

Alexa had held the crate of jars in her lap on their drive, and she stayed in the seat while Suzanne rounded the hood and opened the passenger door. She took the crate and set it in the grass. Alexa stepped out, batting at the wrinkles in her skirt.

“Let’s leave the crate here and each take two jars.” Suzanne lifted out two jars and held them toward Alexa.

“What about the fifth one?”

“I don’t really need it. I just hated to waste the flowers. We’ll figure out something to do with it.” Suzanne grabbed two more jars and headed into the cemetery. According to Mother, Dad’s stone was in the southeast section near his brother’s and parents’ graves, so she aimed herself in that direction with Alexa moving gracefully beside her.

Suzanne glanced at the names on stones as she moved past, each name raising an image of people from the small community where she’d been raised. Odd how strong the memories were, considering how long she’d been away.

When she came upon the stone with
Cecil E. Zimmerman
etched into its face, so many remembrances attacked she couldn’t sort them all. She stood with the cool, moist jars in her hands, breathing in the scent of peonies and letting the images wash over her in waves.
Dad … Oh, Dad, I miss you so much …

She set one jar off to the side, then moved directly to the base of the stone and knelt. She wriggled the base of the Mason jar until she flattened a patch of grass enough to hold the jar upright. Then she sat back on her heels and placed her fingertips on the sun-warmed top edge of Dad’s headstone.

More memories flitted through her mind, and she smiled even though a tear trickled down her cheek. “I really think I had the best dad in the world, Alexa.”

Alexa squatted beside her with the jars of flowers still in her hands. She rested the jars on her knees and aimed an attentive look at her mother. “Tell me about him.”

How to encapsulate her father into a few simple sentences? She wished she were a poet so she could do justice to his life. “For one, he had time for me no
matter what. For all of us children. I was the only child until Clete came along, so I had Mother and Dad’s full attention up until then. But I was never jealous of Clete, or Shelley or Sandra when they were born, because Dad made me feel important by taking time for me.”

Alexa’s smile encouraged Suzanne to continue.

“For another, he taught me to trust and love God. He read the Bible to us every day—at breakfast before he went out to work and in the evening before we went to bed. In between, he lived what he believed. All those biblical fruits of the Spirit? Dad had them imprinted on his life. He was loving, patient, kind, gentle. When he got angry, he didn’t lose his temper and holler or strike out but practiced self-control. Oh, he wasn’t perfect.” Suzanne chuckled, remembering a time Dad kicked the tractor tire when the machine’s engine refused to start. “But he was as close to perfect as a human could get. He was a wonderful example for my brother, sisters, and me to follow.”

Alexa nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I see him in you, Mom. All those things you just said? You’re that way, too.”

Suzanne’s heart swelled in appreciation even as her conscience reminded her just how imperfect she really was. “Oh, honey …”

“No, really, Mom. You’ve been that kind of example to me.” Alexa set the two jars aside and shifted to sit on her bottom. “Now I know where you learned it, and I’m glad. But I wonder …” She toyed with her ponytail, her expression thoughtful. “How did you—and Sandra, too—pick up those traits when Clete and Shelley didn’t seem to get it? They’re both so …” She made a face.

“Negative?”

“I was thinking more like perpetually disagreeable.” Alexa sighed and plucked a blade of grass. She twisted it gently between her fingers, seeming to examine the play of sun on the tiny blade as she went on. “I want to like them. They’re my family. But sometimes I don’t think they want to be liked. At least, not by me. They’re nothing like what you were just saying about your dad. It doesn’t make much sense, how two of you are so nice and two of you just aren’t.”

Alexa tossed the bit of grass away and shrugged. “I guess Clete and Shelley are like Grandmother instead of Grandfather. Although she’s getting better. So maybe there’s hope for Clete and Shelley, too, hmm?”

Suzanne smiled. “There’s always hope.”

Alexa smiled back.

Suzanne rose. “Let’s put these other jars out and then get you that pizza I promised. I don’t want you to collapse from starvation.”

Alexa laughed lightly—a more genuine laugh—and they placed a jar in front of each of Suzanne’s grandparents’ headstones as well as the one for the uncle she’d never met. Then they walked slowly toward the car with the late-spring sun warming their heads and the light breeze kissing their cheeks with its delicate perfume.

Alexa’s gaze shifted back and forth, and suddenly she stopped and grabbed Suzanne’s hand. “Mom, look.” She pointed to a newer headstone set off the path in a little space by itself. It looked lonely. “Is that Mr. Aldrich’s wife?”

Suzanne stepped closer and, shielding her eyes from the sun with her cupped hand, read the stone aloud. “ ‘Karina Anne Kornelson Aldrich. Beloved wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend. Gone but not forgotten.’ ”

“Oh, how sad.” Alexa’s tone held deep sorrow. “She’s been gone three years already. She was so young when she died.”

Suzanne slipped her arm around Alexa’s waist. “We never know when death will knock at our door, so it’s wise to always be ready.”

Alexa nodded somberly. “Poor Danny, growing up without a mom. I feel for him.”

Suzanne’s heart caught.

Alexa turned an eager look on Suzanne. “Mom, could we put that last jar of flowers in front of her grave? We don’t know her, but it just seems the right thing to do. Please?”

Once again, Alexa’s compassionate spirit touched Suzanne. Maybe God had prompted her to bring the extra jar so Alexa could perform this small act of kindness. “Sure, that’s fine.”

Alexa retrieved the jar, placed it next to the stone, and then tenderly fluffed the flowers. She turned, a smile of satisfaction on her pretty face, and swished her hands together. “Done. Now, how about that pizza?”

“Let’s go.” Suzanne looped arms with her daughter and headed for the car.

Alexa climbed in while Suzanne tossed the empty crate into the trunk. When she settled behind the steering wheel, Alexa spoke again. “By the way, Mom, I need to tell you something. Something important.”

Had her voice held a hint of foreboding, or was it only their silent surroundings giving Suzanne the feeling that something unpleasant was about to occur? She shrugged off the odd sensation—silly to develop an aversion to cemeteries now that she was grown up when they’d never frightened her in childhood—and turned the key in the ignition. “Okay. But food first. I might even eat a slice myself. And then …” She waggled her eyebrows at her daughter. “I have an idea I think you’ll like.”

“What is it?”

“Never mind.” Suzanne reversed the car and then aimed it for the road. “It’s a surprise.”

Paul

Paul crouched on his haunches and twisted a screw into the predrilled hole to secure the first cabinet door in place. He winced, turning the screwdriver as quickly as possible so he could stand and stretch again. Every time he bent forward or picked up something, his tailbone let him know it was not happy. For two cents he’d go home. Today was a holiday, after all—weren’t the post office and the bank closed? If he’d taken the day off, he could’ve avoided being knocked on his backside and clopped in the face by the kid who used to pester him to play catch or bait his fishing hook or take him on in a game of checkers.

Even more than his back and jaw hurt, his heart hurt.

The front screen door slapped into its frame with a sharp
crack
. Startled, he jerked, and the screwdriver jumped from the screw’s slot and created a deep gouge in the new paint job. He gritted his teeth, then regretted it because the action intensified his jaw pain. Hissing through his teeth, he repositioned the screwdriver and started again.

“Mr. Aldrich?”

This time he yanked backward and nearly knocked himself on his seat. Catching hold of the cabinet’s door frame, he steadied himself and then looked up into Alexa’s curious face. The morning’s frustrations rolled away in one rush, and a smile formed on his lips without an ounce of effort. He stretched upright,
battling against the stiffness and continued pain in his back. “Hi, Alexa. What do you need?” Whatever it was, he’d do it.

“Mom said when she left, Grandmother was reading in the living room, but she isn’t there now. Do you know where she went?”

Disappointment struck. He wished she wanted something more complicated. The desire to gift her, to please her, tangled him in knots. “She headed to her bedroom shortly after Su—your mother left the house. I haven’t heard any noise from in there, so she might be napping.”

Alexa chewed her lower lip, something he already recognized as her habit when she was thinking. “I’ll go peek in at her. Thank you.” She turned and scurried off, the stiff fabric of her modest, mid-calf-length skirt snapping softly with her stride.

Rather than returning to work, Paul remained frozen with the screwdriver gripped in his fist, his gaze on the opening leading to the dining room. Only a few moments later she returned, and he greeted her with another smile. The action hurt his jaw but lifted his spirits. “Was I right? She’s napping?”

“Out like a light,” Alexa said with a nod that bounced her brown ponytail. Several strands of hair had come loose and formed sweat-damp squiggles around her face. If she were six years old and if she had grown up calling him
Dad
, he would take his comb and smooth the strands back into place. He fought a sharp pang of remorse at what he’d missed.

She continued, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “Would you please tell her Mom and I decided to make a quick run to Wichita to see if they’re having Memorial Day sales at the mall? We’ll be back by suppertime, but if she needs something before then, Tanya said she’d be on call.”

“Sure, I’ll tell her.” His first real favor for his daughter. He wanted to shout for joy.

“Thanks, Mr. Aldrich. Enjoy your quiet afternoon.” She turned to leave.

“Just a minute, Alexa.” At once, she stopped. Cringing against the pain shooting through his lower spine, he took a step toward her. “I’m sorry about this morning. About what you saw.”

She sent him a sheepish grin. “To be honest, it looked like you were on the receiving end. You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yes, I do.” He hadn’t been given the privilege of teaching her from childhood, and maybe it was too late to interject instruction now, but he needed to share what he believed. “Violence isn’t a way to solve problems, and allowing anger to take control of a person doesn’t glorify God. So regardless of what it looked like, Clete and I were both involved, and we’re both at fault. So I apologize, and I ask you to forgive me.”
Please, Alexa, forgive me for not being there for you when you were a baby and a little girl. Forgive me for not being there for you now …

Her eyes grew wide, and she nodded solemnly. “Of course, Mr. Aldrich.”

He smiled, ignoring the ache in his jaw. “Have fun shopping.”

“Oh, we will. Mom and I always have fun together.”

His smile faltered. Why did her cheerful statement irritate him?

Once again she turned as if to leave, but then she spun back to face him. “May I ask you something?”