When Mercy Rains (40 page)

Suzy’s brows pinched downward. She kept watching the road ahead, not even sending a glance at her mother. “I don’t suppose anyone
wants
to grow old alone, but sometimes that’s the way life turns out. You’re alone now, with Dad gone. And sixty isn’t ancient, either. Do you ever think of marrying again?”

Abigail snorted. “No man in his right mind would choose me, knowing how he’d have to take care of me. Besides, I’m too cantankerous for most. Your father was always patient, but not many men would put up with me.” She hadn’t spoken so forthrightly to anyone in years. She found a release in saying the words out loud. Then she realized Suzy had managed to veer the conversation from its original course. She wagged her finger at her daughter. “But we weren’t discussing me. Answer my question. Don’t you want to be a wife?”

Suzy sighed. A long sigh. A sad sigh. “Sometimes asking what we want isn’t the best question. Sometimes we have to ask, ‘What is best?’ Or better yet, ‘What is God’s will?’ I’m not opposed to marriage. Sometimes I do feel lonely and wish I had someone to share my life with. But I’m not going to marry someone out of loneliness or out of the desire to have more children. God intends marriage to be a partnership of love and trust and respect. Those feelings can’t be manufactured just because I want to experience them. They need to be real.”

Abigail shook her head. “You’re talking in riddles.”

Suzy laughed softly. “Well, I suppose the question, ‘what is love?’ could be considered a riddle. All I know for sure is I’ve not met anyone to whom I wanted to give my heart. Except Alexa. So she has been my life. And she has been enough.”

Abigail squinted, searching her daughter’s face for signs of untruthfulness. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Although Suzy’s tone and the firm nod of her head indicated great certainty, Abigail wasn’t convinced. Sorrow struck, carried on a tide of guilt. She swallowed and said gruffly, “I’m sorry you didn’t have more.” She wanted to add
because of me
, but she couldn’t gather the courage.

Suzy must have understood, though, because she nodded again, and a sad smile curved the corners of her lips. “But they had more, didn’t they? Paul enjoyed marriage and the birth of a son. Anna-Grace grew up with a mom and dad who love her. If we were to ask if they were unhappy with their lives, both of them would probably tell us they had no regrets.”

“But what of your regrets?” Abigail sucked in a breath and held it.

“Wallowing in past regrets doesn’t do any good.” Her chin tilted up a notch. “So I won’t discuss them.”

Abigail released her air. She touched Suzy’s elbow. “But—”

“We’re almost to Wichita. We can’t check in to the B and B Alexa arranged until three o’clock, so where would you like to go until then? The zoo, the museum, or the mall?”

Abigail folded her arms over her chest. If Suzy wanted to be obstinate, then she would be obstinate, too. “You choose.”

“It’s your birthday getaway, Mother, so you need to choose.”

“I don’t care.”

Suzy’s fingers briefly tightened on the steering wheel, but when she spoke she only sounded patient, as Abigail had come to expect. “All right then. Since it’s such a pretty day, let’s start with the zoo. Then tomorrow the museum, and we’ll visit the mall on Friday before we go home.”

Abigail didn’t reply.

Suzy sighed. “Mother, when we go home, Alexa is going to ask if we had a good time, and I don’t want to lie to her. So can we agree to let the past remain there and instead focus on right now?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is. I think we’ll both be happier that way.”

“All right.” Abigail sat in silence with her arms folded. She wouldn’t argue, and she’d do her best not to pester Suzy with questions. But be happy? That remained to be seen.

Alexa

Although Mr. Aldrich had instructed her to stay out of the way, Alexa couldn’t resist pausing in the yard each time she carried out a load of wash to hang on the line. She decided to wash not only sheets and towels but also all the curtains. Men swarmed the house, standing on ladders or homemade scaffolding, applying scrapers to the old paint. Even though she’d only asked to have the house painted, two men took down the shutters and removed the screen doors and set up a little workshop under the towering cottonwood. By the time they finished, Alexa was certain the old shutters and doors would look brand-new.

She fought the temptation to stay in the yard and watch them work. She knew about Amish barn raisings, of course. Growing up in Indiana with Amish communities nearby, she was familiar with the hardworking ethic and community spirit of the close-knit religious groups, but she’d never had the chance to witness it in action. The sight of the men working together, each contributing his full effort, somehow in sync with the others without even having to call out instructions, held an unexpected beauty, and Alexa wished she could set up a video camera to record it. But instead she had to satisfy herself with frequent long gazes as she hung freshly washed items on the lines.

At noon two more cars pulled onto the property—women from the fellowship bringing lunch for the workers. Alexa dashed out with a stack of paper
plates and a handful of napkins, eager to help distribute the thick sandwiches, kettle-cooked potato chips, and home-baked pastries and cookies. As the men filled their plates, she thanked each one profusely, and without exception they assured her they were happy to help. Their kindness warmed her even more than the June sun beaming overhead.

The women, both members of Grandmother’s quilting circle, insisted on cleaning up the mess and promised Alexa someone else would bring out a snack midafternoon. Although she’d only met them twice before, she couldn’t resist giving each a hug, and to her delight, they returned the embrace without a moment’s hesitation. The older one, Mrs. Lapp, even gave Alexa’s cheek a soft pat and commended her for arranging something so wonderful for Abigail.

“The truth is,” Mrs. Lapp said, shaking her head slowly as her gaze drifted across the house, “someone in the fellowship should have insisted on it long ago. But Abigail was so dead set against fixing anything, we didn’t push the issue. Why, the house could have fallen down around her and we would have watched it happen, we were all so unwilling to force our way past her stubborn pride.” She turned her smile on Alexa. “But you managed it. Good for you.”

Alexa ducked her head, embarrassed yet pleased by the woman’s praise. “It’s a group effort. I appreciate everyone’s willingness to help. And I can’t wait to see the look on Grandmother’s face when she comes home.”

The second woman laughed softly. “Almost makes me wish I owned a camera.”

Alexa grinned. She did own a camera, and even though Sandra had told her Grandmother preferred the outdated Old Order practice of no picturetaking, Alexa intended to sneak a photo or two of her grandmother’s expression when she returned.

She left the pair to bag the trash and box the leftover food, and she hurried around the house to the clothesline to remove the dried sheets and curtains. She made the beds and then started to rehang the curtains. But she decided to give the windows a good washing first. The men had said they’d wash the
outside when they finished painting, so she scrubbed the glass from the inside, waving at the workers as she moved from room to room.

When the windows were clean and the windowsills free of dust and sticky little cobwebs, she dragged out Grandmother’s creaky ironing board and ancient electric iron to press the wrinkles out of the curtains before hanging them again. By the time she finished three hours later, her shoulders ached, but she didn’t mind. Satisfaction filled her as she surveyed the end result of her labor. Then she looked past the curtains to the faded wall coverings and vintage furniture, and she frowned. If only she could do a complete makeover so Grandmother’s house would sparkle inside and out in every way.

As she stood in the middle of the living room floor, an idea bloomed. She sucked in a happy breath. She might not have time to put up new wallpaper or change the furniture, but maybe she could give the front room and dining room a new look. She giggled. Grandmother was on a minivacation, and now her living room would receive a minimakeover. With a smile on her face, she darted for the stairs.

Paul

Paul stepped back and examined the kitchen by increments, using his most critical eye. Cabinetry stretched across the east wall at a manageable height of twenty-seven inches—six inches lower than before. The retractable cottagestyle doors, hinged like shutters, whispered on hidden rails. The white glossy wood looked crisp and clean against the freshly painted pale blue walls. He’d retained the old butcher-block countertops but had sanded them and applied several coats of protective oil so they gleamed nearly as bright as the polished touch-activated faucet, which arched like a swan’s neck over the new stainless-steel sink. Mrs. Zimmerman had asked him to reuse the old white porcelain-coated sink, but its twelve-inch depth proved unwieldy. He hoped she’d be happy with the double-wide, nine-inch-deep sink instead.

He also hoped she wouldn’t mind his relocation of the stove and refrigerator. Once tucked into the alcove beneath the back staircase, their distance a good six strides from the sink, they now stood sentry in opposite ends of the rebuilt sink base. He’d carved out a section of floor so the stove sat in a recessed box, putting its top even with the counter where Mrs. Zimmerman could reach if she chose to do any cooking.

Of course, the oven door now nearly touched the floor when it was opened, but whoever else used the appliance would just have to deal with stooping over farther. His main focus was making the kitchen functional for Mrs. Zimmerman, not for her nurse. Or for Alexa, if she decided to stick around and turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast inn.

As for Alexa, wouldn’t she approve the baking center he’d fashioned by inserting the remaining lower cabinets in the alcove? He even built a pull-out cutting board on one side to increase the work space. With the old drop-leaf table tucked snug against the west wall adjacent to the alcove, she’d have plenty of room to roll piecrusts or decorate cakes.

Over the course of the day, the sounds of her bustling around and humming had carried past the sheet he’d hung to keep his mess in the kitchen. Whatever she was doing, clearly she was enjoying herself, and he’d enjoyed listening to her. Curiosity—and the desire to share his accomplishments with someone who would appreciate them—sent him across the floor. He shifted the sheet aside, stepped through the little storage passageway, and into the dining room. And there he stopped.

His mouth dropped open in surprise. When he’d told her to keep herself occupied by spiffing up the place, he envisioned her dusting, mopping, and scrubbing. But she’d done so much more. If it hadn’t been for the familiar flowered wallpaper on the walls and time-aged furniture, he wouldn’t have recognized the room.

The patter of feet on the stairs came, followed by Alexa breezing around the corner. She carried a folded layer of creamy lace. When she spotted him, she
came to a halt, crushing the lace against the front of her plain lavender T-shirt. “Oh! Mr. Aldrich …” An adorable blush crept up her cheeks.

Paternal love swelled, startling in its force. He chuckled softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He glanced around, releasing a whistle. “You’ve been busy today.”

She hurried to the table and flipped the length of lace across its surface. As she smoothed the delicate fabric into place, she offered a bashful shrug. “I just figured … the outside of the house is getting fixed up. Maybe I should do a little something on the inside, too.”

“Well, it looks great.” Paul stepped farther into the room where he could peek through the wide doorway leading to the front room. He shook his head, marveling. “Where’d you get all this?”

A self-conscious giggle left her throat. She pointed overhead. “The attic. There’s a treasure trove up there.” She entered the front room and he followed. “These sofa covers are just sheets, tucked in and around. I made an end table with old suitcases. I like the way they look all stacked up. Vintage, right? I found a whole box of doilies, so I’ve had fun finding places for them. I rearranged the furniture. I thought if the sofa was at an angle, it would break up the hard lines of the room—it’s just so
square
—and that allowed me to put the tall lamp behind it, where it’ll help light up that whole corner.”