The Mercy (17 page)

D
ays later, on a cold February evening, Rose Ann served a spicy pumpkin roll for dessert, with hot coffee. Sol and Rose were sitting at the table when they heard a car pull up outside. A few minutes later, Sol was surprised to hear Hen knock at the back door, calling before she let herself in. “Oh, you’re still eating,” she said, her face rosy from the cold.

“Kumme have dessert with us,” Rose offered, patting the bench beside her.

“Smells yummy!” Hen slid in next to Rose and reached for the knife to cut an ample slice. “Dad, Rosie . . . I’m so excited. We’ve found a wonderful farmhouse not far from here. I told Brandon I just had to drive over and tell you.”

Sol felt his pulse quicken. When Brandon and Hen had first mentioned wanting to move to the country, he’d hardly believed it. “Where is the place?”

“Just around the corner—barely a stone’s throw away. Brandon says if we don’t sell the house in town soon, we can simply rent it out. That way, we can move more quickly. And . . . we want you and Rose to see it sometime before we close the deal.”

Rose practically fidgeted next to her sister. “Oh, can we, Dat?”

“Why, sure.” Then, looking at Hen, he said, “Yous really want to live near Amish farmland?”

“Well, the two of us took your suggestion to heart and made some compromises for the sake of our marriage.” Her eyes twinkled. “This just happens to be Brandon’s.”

Sol’s heart swelled at the joy he saw in his daughter’s eyes—the pain of recent months but a mere memory. “Well, that’s a big compromise, I’ll say,” he replied. “Wait’ll your mother hears this.”

“Brandon and I plan to tell her together.”

Sol reached for a second piece of pumpkin roll, shaking his head in amazement. “Such a mighty bighearted gesture on Brandon’s part.”

Hen smiled and nodded. “He says it’s the least he can do for Mattie Sue and me.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Plus, he says he kind of misses being near Plain folk—you and Mamm especially.”

Sol noticed Rose brush away happy tears.

“Well,
gut
news, indeed,” he said, his heart filled with gladness.

February’s final days faltered as frost-bound soil gave way to fog and rain and early bulbs. Meanwhile, Solomon continued to cross off the days on the kitchen calendar, anxious for Emma’s homecoming.

At last, March came in earnest, along with mud and the annual farm sales associated with it. And then, just one day shy of three weeks at the local rehab center, Emma was finally to be released into Sol’s care. Overjoyed at the prospect of her return, Sylvia, Hen, and Rose Ann planned a surprise gathering in her honor. A special feast, complete with the three women’s best recipes, including the standard main dish served at weddings—roast with tender, shredded chicken and a rich gravy. Delicious!

Feeling downright giddy, Sol had gone around inviting their boys and families the day before, then went over to Brandon and Hen’s new place, and last to Petersheims’. He and Brandon set up the extra folding tables and chairs, which spilled into the front room, before Sol stopped to clean up a bit, change clothes, and head off to Lancaster with the driver.

Emma’s coming home. Praise be!

Never before had Sol seen such joy on his daughters’ faces as when he carried Emma up the walkway and into the house. Tears rolled down Rose Ann’s face when she spotted them, and Hen came right over and kissed her mother’s cheek, smiling. Brandon stood beside her with Mattie Sue perched high on his shoulder. Even Beth Browning was present, observing quietly.

“It’s wonderful to see all of you,” Emma said, eyes glistening. “But ya really didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”

“Oh, we
wanted
to!” Hen and Rose Ann declared in unison, which brought a wave of laughter all around.

Barbara Petersheim waited till all seven sons had greeted their mother before inching forward to pat Emma’s hand, their eyes locking for a second in a sweet way as only best friends do. Brandon had seen to it that Emma was comfortable there in the padded rocking chair, where she was managing quite well. Sol was grateful for the strength she’d gained from daily therapy sessions these past weeks.

The younger grandchildren, including Mattie Sue, had brought simple handmade items as tokens of their love, including cards and artwork. And Rose surprised Mamm with the set of teacups and saucers hand painted with Rose’s namesake, saying they were once Yost Kauffman’s. Emma’s face glowed as she lovingly thanked Rose . . . and each one about her. Her delight at being home and with her family again was clear to all.

Emma was flushed by the time they gathered at the various tables—the children in the kitchen and the rest of them scattered across the front room. Her posture looked straighter, and she seemed more alert and energetic than before. Best of all, she was completely pain free.

When Sol bowed his head for the table blessing, he had to deliberately swallow twice. Best to keep his emotions in check, lest the whole bunch of them commence to weeping for joy. And before he ever raised his head, he felt his wife’s small, cool hand on his and thanked the dear Lord in heaven for this most remarkable day of days.

O
n the last day of June, around nine o’clock in the morning, Rose decided to surprise Barbara Petersheim with a basket of freshly baked sticky buns. The sun was making its slow climb through the trees as she weaved her way through the barnyard and out toward the shortcut. The path was well worn from all the years of neighborly visits. Tall trees lined the way, providing a sanctuary from the sun.

She was halfway to Petersheims’ when a yellow taxicab stopped at the end of their lane. A tall, dark-haired Englischer in tan slacks and a mint-green short-sleeved shirt climbed out and paid the driver. He walked with purpose toward the farmhouse.

Suddenly, Barbara rushed out of the house, the hem of her skirt fluttering behind her. Rose stopped in her tracks, staring as Barbara threw her arms around the man. “Can it be?” Rose whispered, her heart pounding in her ears.

Yet Barbara’s cries of delight at the unexpected reunion left Rose Ann with no question in her mind.
Nick’s back!

She felt stunned seeing him there, walking with Barbara around the side of the house and up the back porch steps. He had not even a speck of luggage, so Rose assumed he was visiting only briefly.

“This is unbelievable,” she whispered, nearly beside herself as she sat on an old tree stump, not certain what to do with the still-warm cinnamon rolls in the basket. If she returned home without taking them to Barbara, Mamm and Mammi Sylvia would surely ask questions, and Rose would have no choice but to reveal why she hadn’t made the delivery. As intuitive as her grandmother and mother were, they might read between the lines and suspect Rose was still carrying a torch for her old friend.

I must guard my heart,
she thought, remembering Isaac.

Glancing toward the neighbors’, she decided to leave the basket of buns on the back porch in hope that Barbara or Nick might find them.

Sol had heard through the grapevine that Nick Franco might possibly be in the area, but he’d not told a soul—not even Aaron. Supposedly, the wayward young man had been seen in English clothing inquiring about a house to rent near Quarryville.

That Monday morning, Aaron came in the door to Sol’s woodshop, his face ashen. “Got a minute, Sol?”

He pulled up a stool for his friend. “
Was is letz?—
What’s wrong?”

“Nick’s back. He’s over at the house right now, sitting with his feet under our table, talkin’ a blue streak.”

Sol hardly knew how to respond.

“Says he’s come to apologize—to ask for forgiveness and confess his part in Christian’s death.”

Sol’s heart sank at this confirmation of his fears. So Nick
had
played a role in his foster brother’s death! “Now,
this
is a surprise.”

“That’s what I thought at first . . . and now I really don’t know what to think. He also insists he wants to join church. But if ya saw him, well, you’d realize he’s anything but Plain anymore, Sol.”

“What’s he say to that?”

“Just that he feels called to be Amish . . . and that he wants to make things right.”

Sol was speechless.

“I mean with the membership . . . with everyone.” Aaron stopped to mop his brow with his kerchief. “Nick wants to bow his knee before the Lord God and the brethren—and wants to talk things over with Bishop Simon in Bart, too.”

“What changed his mind, I wonder?” Sol was baffled.

“All I know is he wants forgiveness . . . so he says.”

“Well, has he asked it from you and Barbara?”

“First thing out of his mouth when he arrived a bit ago. And he asked for it as humbly as anybody could wish.”

This was so hard to believe, Sol couldn’t trust his ears—or Nick. What was he really thinking? “You don’t think he’s come back for Rosie, do ya?”

“Hard to say.”

Sol shuddered. From what Mose had told him, Rose had been seeing Ruthann’s cousin from Bart for months now. Who could know, but they might even be engaged. “Guess time will tell why Nick’s really here and whether or not he came back for the right reason.”

Aaron continued. “I’ll admit it was awful hard lookin’ him in the face.”

“Did he give you any more to go on . . . ’bout Christian’s accident?” Sol almost dreaded asking.

“No.” Aaron rubbed his forehead with the back of his arm. “And his contrite words just don’t match his English getup.”

“So will he stay with you or what?”

“That I don’t know, either.” Aaron shook his head and took off his straw hat. “I almost asked him how he expects to fit in at Preachin’ with his fancy clothes and that English haircut.”

“Well, sure . . . why don’t ya?”

“Haven’t gotten that far. Had to get out for some fresh air . . . prob’ly shouldn’t have left Barbara over there alone like that.”

A tremor went through Sol.

Aaron glanced toward the door. “I
could
use some extra help with fieldwork,” he said.

“Couldn’t we all?” But Sol wasn’t about to offer Nick any type of work . . . or give him the time of day, for that matter. He sighed, feeling bad about his skepticism. “Just how far does forgiveness go in this case, Aaron?”

“I wonder the same.” Aaron rose from the stool to leave. “The timing is awful surprisin’, given the brethren will make their final ruling, the start of next month. Even so, Nick seems mighty sincere.”

Has someone set Nick up to return on the eve of all of this?
Sol worried.

Planting his hat square on his head, Aaron made his way outside. Sol stood watching him walk through the verdant meadow between their houses. He squinted at the sky, bright with the morning sun. There were many hours of work ahead today; he could not let this news rattle him.

Glancing at his house, Sol dreaded going inside for even a drink of cold water, let alone his typical midmorning sticky buns and coffee. He certainly was
not
going to be the one to break the news to Emma and Rose Ann. In fact, if he could somehow back up and begin the day all over again, that would be just fine by him.

Sol turned back to the woodshop, going to sit on the stool where Aaron had been just minutes before. He groaned loudly, reliving the words from his neighbor and friend.
“Nick’s back.”

This was the very last thing he’d expected to hear from Aaron this summertime morning. Now or ever.