When Mercy Rains (34 page)

“Tanya, can Andrew and Olivia stay with you when they come for Mom’s birthday? I’ve already claimed Anna-Grace and Sunny, but I don’t think Andrew and Liv will want to sleep on the lumpy sleeper sofa in the basement at our place.”

“Andrew?” Suzanne leaned forward, her heart firing into her throat. “Is his family coming to Mother’s party?”

Alexa grimaced. “Aww, I wanted them to surprise you.”

Sandra hunched her shoulders, a sheepish grin quirking her lips. “I’m sorry, Alexa. I forgot.”

Alexa offered Sandra a smile. “It’s okay.” She faced Suzanne, her eyes shining. “Isn’t it great? We invited Grandmother’s nephews. They’re all coming and bringing their families with them. Since it’s a three-hour drive, they plan to spend the night. Andrew said they might even stay over on Saturday night and attend worship with us Sunday morning before going back.”

Sandra giggled. “So now we’re all scrambling to find places for them to sleep. It’s quite the crowd! But Mother will be so pleased. She hasn’t seen her sister’s sons in years.”

Suzanne tossed the last bite of her s’more into the fire. “I … I thought when you said ‘family’ it would be just … us.”

A frown pinched Alexa’s brow. The firelight brought out the golden flecks in her eyes, and Suzanne read confusion in her daughter’s expression. “No, Mom. Sandra and I sent invitations to all of the fellowship members, Grandmother’s nephews, and even two of her cousins. Quite a few have already told Sandra they’re coming. I thought you’d be pleased.”

Suzanne swallowed a hysterical laugh. Pleased? Soon she’d be under the same roof with Anna-Grace Braun, the infant she’d been forced to relinquish to her mother’s nephew. How could she be in the same room with Anna-Grace and not dissolve into a puddle of sorrow?

“What’s wrong, Suzy?” Sandra asked.

Suzanne glanced at her youngest sister, noting that all her siblings were looking at her strangely. She forced a wobbly smile. “N-nothing. I’m … I’m just …” She couldn’t find a suitable word. Surprised? Unprepared? Devastated? Yes, devastated. But she couldn’t say so.

Sandra offered an assuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ve already decided your job is to keep Mother occupied elsewhere while we prepare for the party. Tanya, Shelley, and I are fixing the food, Alexa is baking the cake—she promised one the size of a football field—and all of us will put up the decorations while you and Mother are away, so you won’t have to do much.” She feigned a persecuted look and gestured to the others.
“We’ll
be doing the hard part.”

“And Paul said he’d work extra hours to get the kitchen finished before Mother’s birthday.” Tanya winked at Alexa. “I promised him the biggest piece of cake for his trouble.”

Paul and Anna-Grace? Together? With her? Suzanne eased back into the creaky chair, willing her lips to form a smile. But they only quivered. “It … it sounds as if you’ve got everything figured out.”

Alexa’s frown deepened. “Mom, I think you need to step away from the fire for a little bit. Your face is all red and you’re sweating.”

Suzanne laughed—a nervous blast. “Maybe you’re right. I do feel a little lightheaded. Probably too much heat plus too much sweet. Oh, I made a rhyme.” She laughed again, but even to her ears the sound was too shrill to hold real mirth. She pushed out of the chair and held up her sticky hands. “I’m going to go wash up. Does anyone need anything while I’m in the house?”

“Check on the kids,” Shelley said, “and make sure they’re still sleeping.”

“Will do.” Suzanne scurried across the dark yard toward the house. Her siblings’ soft chatter combined with the muffled crackle of the fire created a gentle melody that contrasted with the fierce pounding of her pulse. Inside the house, she collapsed onto the sofa and closed her eyes.
Dear Lord, help me. Help me …

Abigail

Abigail awakened the day after Memorial Day to the sound of bird song. A lazy smile formed on her face without effort, enjoying the bird’s cheerful tune. Last night she’d fallen asleep listening to the mumble of her children’s voices interspersed with laughter—a peaceful sound too long absent from the farm. As much as she’d complained and scolded, Clete had been right to bring Suzy home. They needed her here. They needed the healing her presence could bring.

She tossed aside the light covers and automatically tried to fling her legs over the edge of the mattress. Only when her limbs didn’t move did the reality of her loss once again crash down on her. How long until her brain completely recognized her legs’ uselessness? Every time she forgot, allowing years of habit to override her present infirmity, she suffered another bout of angry frustration and regret.

The joy of the morning’s sweet awakening was whisked away, and bitterness
slipped into its place. With a grunt, she pushed herself into a seated position, then grabbed her calves and shifted her feet to the floor. Her chair waited next to the bed, the transfer board lying across the arms in readiness. She needed the bathroom, but instead of reaching for the board, she sat scowling at the reprehensible chair. She wished she could kick it. Kick it hard. Knowing she couldn’t only made the anger swell hotter, higher, and when someone tapped at her door, she barked, “What do you want?”

The door creaked open and Alexa peeked in. “Would you like a cup of coffee? It’s ready.” Her smooth, youthful face pursed with worry and a hint of hurt feelings. But even so, she spoke kindly.

Shame flooded Abigail. She didn’t deserve Alexa’s kindness. But thinking of coffee made her need for the bathroom increase. If she didn’t hurry she’d shame herself in another way. She waved her hand, desperation sharpening her tone. “No coffee yet. I’ll call when I want it.”

The door clicked closed and Abigail made use of the transfer board. To her relief, she reached the bathroom in time. She washed her hands and then her face, grunting a bit with the effort of reaching the spigots. As much as she disliked having Paul Aldrich take over her personal space, she looked forward to having the sink at a more manageable height. She brushed her teeth, dribbling foamy paste all over the edge of the white porcelain when she spat. She cleaned up the mess with her washcloth, then tossed the cloth into the tub with her used towels from last night.

She couldn’t see her reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, so she grabbed her hairbrush and reversed the chair through the doorway into the bedroom where Clete had set the mirror on her old dressing table at a sharp angle to catch her image. She turned the chair toward the mirror and raised her brush, but then she sat, her hand frozen in position, and stared at the person reflected in the rectangular glass.

Streaked blond and gray hair stood out in wild disarray. Purple smudges beneath the eyes and deep lines drawing from the nose to the corners of the mouth spoke of sleepless nights and the burden of worry. The neck of the
loose-fitting gown sagged, exposing a patch of crepey skin. For a moment, Abigail blinked in confusion. That apparition was
her
? When had she become such an old, frazzled-looking, ugly woman?

Averting her gaze, she dropped the brush in her lap and turned the chair toward the door. Popping it open a scant inch—heaven forbid Paul should catch a glimpse of her—she called, “Suzanne? I need you!” Her words echoed through her mind. She did need Suzy. She needed Suzy to forgive her. To love her again. To somehow make her beautiful.

When Suzy entered the room, though, Abigail only said, “I want my green-checked dress. The seersucker one. It doesn’t wrinkle.”

With professional detachment and gentle touches, Suzy removed Abigail’s rumpled nightgown and helped her into clean underclothes and the dress she wanted. She knelt to slide Abigail’s support hose over her legs before she slipped on her oxfords and tied the laces. Abigail had to close her eyes against tears as her daughter ministered to her, patient and tender. When she was dressed, Suzy brushed Abigail’s hair, braided it, and twisted it into a bun. She reached for the white mesh cap resting on the edge of the dresser, but Abigail shook her head.

“I can get it. You’ve done enough.”

Suzy handed her the cap. “All right. Alexa has coffee waiting when you’re ready.”

“I know. She told me.”

“Toast or cereal this morning?”

“I don’t care. Surprise me.”

Suzy laughed, as if Abigail had a made a joke. “All right.” She left the room and closed the door softly behind her.

Abigail slipped the cap over her bun and rolled close to the dressing table to retrieve the bobby pins from a little saucer on the table’s wood top. Although she tried not to look at herself as she jammed pins into place, her gaze rebelliously connected with the mirror. In some ways the image was different from the earlier one. This time a snow-white cap hid most of the neatly combed hair,
and a crisp dress, buttoned to the neck, shielded the wrinkled throat. But the same old face etched with frown lines remained.

Abigail shook her head slowly, watching the black ribbons of her cap rumple against the bodice of the fresh, springtime-colored dress. Had she really thought Suzy could help? All the primping in the world couldn’t change what was underneath. So why try?

With a sigh she aimed her chair for the dining room and pulled close to the table as Suzy carried in a platter of buttered toast and a fat jar of strawberry jam. Alexa bounced up from her chair and poured a cup of aromatic coffee for Abigail. She managed to push aside her doldrums enough to offer a weak smile of thanks for the coffee.

“I finally figured out the percolator,” Alexa said as she sat back in her chair, “and I told Mom I want to find one for ourselves when we go home again. This percolated coffee tastes as good as any you’d pay four dollars a cup for at a coffee shop.”

“Four dollars?” Abigail nearly dropped the piece of toast she’d picked up. “Who pays four dollars for one cup of coffee?”

Alexa grinned. “You’d be surprised how many people. Lots of times it’s even more than four dollars.”

“Ridiculous.” Abigail slathered jam on the toast, shaking her head. She found it refreshing to talk about something as inconsequential as the cost of a cup of coffee after the bitter ruminations in her bedroom. “Some people must have more money than sense.” She dropped the knife back in the jar and looked at Suzy. “Pray so we can eat.”

Suzy obliged, and the moment she said, “Amen,” the back screen door slammed and Clete’s voice called, “Mother?”

“In the dining room,” Abigail called back. “Grab a cup on the way through the kitchen if you want some of Alexa’s good percolated coffee.”

Clete entered the room with empty hands and a sullen expression. “No thanks. Just wanted to let you know Paul will be late today. He’s trying to get a doctor’s appointment before he comes out to work.”

Alexa shot Clete a wide-eyed look. “Is he all right?”

The girl’s concern seemed deeper than idle interest, igniting Abigail’s curiosity. She watched her granddaughter’s face as Clete replied.

“Said he hurt his back yesterday and wants to get it checked out.”

Alexa chewed her lower lip. Even a fool would be able to recognize her deep concern. Worry stabbed Abigail, too. She aimed a frown at Clete. “Did he hurt himself working here or at home? If he hurt himself here, we need to pay his doctor bills.”

Clete scowled. He flicked a glance at Alexa before answering—an odd reaction. “I’m handling it, Mother.”

Suzy turned sideways in her chair. “If he’s hurt badly and can’t work for a while, who will finish the projects out here? I can’t possibly hire a nurse until this mess is straightened out. It wouldn’t be fair to ask someone to work in these circumstances.”

Clete folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. “I’m sure he’ll be able to finish the job. But if not, I’ll find somebody else.”

“No one else will work as reasonably as Paul Aldrich.” Abigail surprised herself with her staunch statement. “You know how he gives the fellowship families a reduced rate.”

Clete pushed off from the door frame. “As I said, Mother, I’ll handle it.” He turned to leave.

“See that you do,” Abigail snapped.

He sauntered off without answering. She picked up her toast and took a bite, her thoughts rolling. If Paul Aldrich got hurt on her property, she’d have another reason to feel guilty. She hoped he’d be all right. But she didn’t pray about it, because God was wise enough to know she wanted it more for herself than for him.