Steadfast Mercy Page 3

  Edna returned carrying an empty coffee mug. “Who are you talking to, Mary Anna?”

  “I’m nett Mary Anna, Aenti. I’m Jonica. Your niece.”

  “Who?” Edna stared at her vacantly.

  “Jonica. Your bruder William’s dochder.” Mary Anna was Aenti’s older schweschder. Though Jonica didn’t see the resemblance, she’d been told by other relatives that she took after Mary Anna.

  Aenti’s face relaxed. “I know who you are. Did you make more kaffi?” She held up the mug.

  “I’ll put the kettle on the stove. It won’t take long.” Jonica filled the kettle with tap water, then placed it on the burner. “What would you like for lunch?”

  “I ate a few minutes ago.”

  “You did?”

  “We were at the same table. And don’t try to get out of doing the dishes.” Edna wagged a finger at her. “It’s your turn. Or I’ll tell Mamm,” she announced with a smug face, then promptly left the room.

  The sink was empty. Aenti’s memory wasn’t just slipping as Caleb had described. She was visiting somewhere in the past. Jonica hunted through the sparsely stocked cupboards and removed a canning jar labeled chicken noodle soup with last year’s date. The loaf of sourdough bread she found in the bread box was hard crusted and most likely stale, but it didn’t have mold growing on it yet. Maybe once they had eaten lunch, she would have time to inventory the cabinets and compile a shopping list.

  After heating the soup, Jonica called Stephen and Edna to the table.

  Stephen climbed up on the chair, took one look inside the bowl, then pushed it away, sloshing soup over the side. “Ich nett hungahrich.”

  Please don’t test mei patience today. Nett in front of Aenti Edna. Jonica eased the bowl back in front of him. “Bow your head for the blessing.”

  Stephen frowned but did as instructed.

  Jonica glanced at Edna seated across the table for direction. It had always been her father who initiated the mealtime prayer, and since his death, Jonica had assumed the role. But they were guests in Aenti’s house, so she should be the one to decide.

  Edna closed her eyes. After several minutes of silence, Jonica peeked at Edna, not sure if she had fallen asleep. Daed had always cleared his throat to signal the end of the blessing. Jonica coughed lightly.

  Edna opened her eyes. “You must have a lot to talk over with God. I thought I was going to fall asleep waiting for you to finish.”

  Jonica smiled. Next time she would assume the duty to avoid confusion. She tasted the soup. “The chicken flavor is appeditlich. Did you make the soup, Aenti?”

  “Ida Hosteller made it. She’s gut about sharing stuff from her garden and whatever canning she does during the year. I am blessed to have so many friends who look out for me.”

  Jonica sensed her aunt’s loneliness but found herself at a loss for words. If she hadn’t gone astray during rumspringa, they wouldn’t have moved away, Aenti wouldn’t have spent the last five years alone, and her parents would be alive. This was all Peter’s fault. Why did he have to be so engrained with that spirit of discontent, and more importantly, why had she thought he would change?

  Jonica glanced at her son. “Eat your soup, Stephen.”

  He slid the bowl away and laid his head on the table.

  “I’ll put you in bed if you don’t eat,” Jonica said.

  “Ich nett hungahrich.”

  Jonica gave him a few minutes to change his mind and start eating, but when he didn’t budge, she rose from her chair. “Let’s geh to your room.”

  Without protest he pushed away from the table and followed her out of the kitchen.

  She took him up the staircase and into the first bedroom on the left, Jonica’s room growing up in the house. The plain white walls had yellowed some, and it would take a full day to air out the closed-up mustiness, but standing in the room, surrounded by childhood memories, was a balm for her broken heart—if she could forgive herself for allowing what sent her family away.

  Stephen climbed up on the twin bed and laid his head on the pillow.

  She pulled the covers up. “You can get up if you’re ready to eat.”

  “Okay.” He snuggled deeper into the blankets.

  Jonica returned to the kitchen and retook her seat. “Sorry about the interruption.” She took a sip of the soup. The noodles tasted like her mother’s recipe.

  “He doesn’t like soup?” Edna slurped a spoonful of the chicken broth.

  “Stephen isn’t normally a picky eater . . . unless he’s sick.” Jonica put her spoon down as she recalled her son’s recent behavior. She’d attributed his flushed cheeks to his running around the house, but with his lack of an appetite, perhaps he had picked up a bug on their long bus ride. “Excuse me, Aenti Edna, I think I should check on him. Do you have a thermometer?”

  Chapter 4

  Jonica sat on the edge of the bed, holding the thermometer under Stephen’s tongue. The little spurt of energy he had running around the house had worn him out. He’d refused his lunch, and he didn’t put up a fuss when she laid him down for a nap. All signs of his coming down with something.

  The bedroom door opened, and Aenti Edna poked her head inside the room. “How is Mannie doing? Is there anything I can do?”

  “We’re okay.” Jonica smiled. Aenti had already forgotten Stephen’s name. An understandable mistake considering she had only met him for the first time a few hours ago. But Aenti had also mixed up Jonica’s name a few times too since their arrival.

  “I can send for the midwife.”

  “Nay, that isn’t necess—” The bedroom door closed.

  Jonica glanced over her shoulder to discover Edna had left. She checked the thermometer and let out a sigh. Though one hundred degrees was slightly elevated, he’d spiked higher temperatures in the past that hadn’t alarmed his doctor in Cedar Ridge. Stephen should feel much better once he’d napped.

  After straightening the quilt around her son, she kissed his forehead. “I’ll check on you in a little while.”

  “Mamm,” Stephen said, “are there kinner here for me to play with?”

  Meeting her son’s innocent gaze, she swallowed hard. “Let’s talk about that tomorrow when you’re feeling better.”

  Stephen smiled. “Okay.”

  Jonica slipped out of the room. She had no plans to mingle with members of the old community, but she had failed to consider Stephen. Of course he would want to play with other children while he was here. But that could open the floodgates of gossip she wasn’t ready to face.

  Jonica chewed the inside of her cheek. She would have to come up with other things to occupy Stephen’s time, keep him distracted. Then, once her father’s affairs were in order, they would go back to Cedar Ridge. Indecision about Ephraim’s proposal, and Stephen’s and her future in Cedar Ridge, made her jaw tighten. A marriage of convenience wasn’t wrong per se, but she didn’t want to choose financial support over love. If her parents hadn’t died, hadn’t left her and Stephen alone . . .

  Tears clouded her vision as she made her way down the stairs. She paused at the bottom of the steps to clear her throat, then proceeded into the sitting room. “Aenti?”

  Not finding her aunt in her rocking chair, she checked the kitchen, but Edna was nowhere to be found. Jonica removed a cup from the cabinet next to the sink. As she filled it with tap water, she gazed out the window. Edna and Caleb were in the field, and by the way Caleb was nodding, Edna was doing most of the talking. It wasn’t until Caleb looked toward the house, then began unhitching the horse from the plow that it dawned on Jonica what Edna must have asked him to do. He was going after the midwife.

  Jonica set the mug on the counter and rushed outside, not bothering to grab her cloak on the way out the door. She hurried across the lawn and ducked under the wire fence separating the field from the horse corral.

  “There’s mei niece nau.” Aenti waved her over to them. “I’ve asked Caleb to fetch Sadie.”

  “Aenti, you left
before I had the chance to reply to your question.” She came up behind Caleb, who was disassembling the equipment. “You can stop unhitching the horse. You don’t need to geh after Sadie.”

  “I don’t mind going if the kind is sick.” He released the horse from the plow.

  “He’s nett sick.” Jonica glanced sideways to reinforce her words to Edna, but her aunt was hightailing it back to the house. She turned her attention to Caleb. “Stephen tires very easily and tends to be a child who requires extra sleep.”

  “Edna said he didn’t eat any of his lunch and you were taking his temperature. Sounds like he’s sick to me.” He dusted dirt off his knees. “I already have the horse unhitched. I might as well geh see if Sadie can kumm to the haus and check him over.”

  “Please, you’re nett listening. He doesn’t need a midwife.” And she didn’t need the entire district knowing she was back in Posen—with a fatherless child. Jonica crossed her arms. “How many kinner do you have, Caleb?”

  He shook his head. “None.”

  Having given birth as a teenager, she’d learned to take child-raising advice from other people, but never from a man. A man who knew nothing about her son. “Then what qualifies you?” She tapped her chest. “I’m his—”

  “Mamm.” He slanted his brows. “Are you finished?”

  She glared a moment, then straightened her shoulders. “Jah. I think I made mei point.”

  “I wasn’t trying to undermine your authority as the bu’s mamm. God only knows why you’re so . . .”

  “Defensive,” she acknowledged with a nod.

  “I was going to say insecure.” He broke eye contact with her and turned his gaze toward the setting sun. “I have work to do and very few hours left in the day to get it done.” He bent down, picked up the leather strap he’d just unbuckled, and refastened it under the horse’s girth.

  Jonica stood off to the side as he realigned the Clydesdale to the plow. She took a few steps toward the fence, then spun around to face him. “I’m nett insecure.”

  He tapped the reins, grinning as though her explanation had proven his point. An insecure person would feel compelled to defend herself. Yet even knowing that, she couldn’t stop from adding, “I’m a gut mamm to mei sohn.”

  Caleb stopped the horse. “Do you need to get anything else off your chest before I get back to plowing?”

  Goaded by his pacifying tone, she let out an exasperated huff. “Nay, I think I’m done talking to you.” Now that she’d made a complete fool of herself.

  “Then please get off the wheat.”

  Jonica looked down at the freshly turned-over soil and winced. But before she could apologize for disturbing his crop, Caleb tapped the reins and moved on.

  * * *

  The fresh scent of tea tree oil clung to Caleb all afternoon. He had worked the field past dark but failed to get the entire acreage planted. “I don’t even know why I’m worrying about getting the field planted if Edna’s selling the farm,” he told the gelding as he unhitched him from the plow. “The winter wheat won’t head out until August.”

  He clipped a lead rope to the horse’s halter and walked him toward the barn. “Don’t you agree, Anchor? Edna should have said something before I invested in seed.” Anchor tossed his head up and down as if he understood. Caleb patted the gelding’s thick neck. Lately, his horses had become his sounding board. He could talk about the deep-seated pain he hadn’t shared with anyone out in the middle of the field with Anchor.

  “It’s nett just the cost of the seed.” He rubbed the horse between the ears. “If I’m nett farming, what else will I do? Definitely nett construction.” The only time he planned to swing a hammer again was if his mother needed another nail to hang her pot holders, and that wasn’t likely since she had plenty for herself and no daughters to help in the kitchen.

  Caleb shook his head. He’d given the matter way too much thought. All afternoon he’d pondered Jonica’s words. Edna was selling the farm. For all he knew he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps Jonica had misconstrued something in Edna’s letter. If only it was as simple as that, but the way Edna’s thought process was slipping—

  Stop! Lord, I can’t let this continue to consume my thoughts. You know why I can’t go back to construction work. Why I need Edna’s fields. I need to make a living—regain mei daed’s respect somehow.

  He led Anchor into the stall, then fed him from the supply of hay and oats he’d brought from home. It was easier to bed the young gelding down in Edna’s barn instead of walking him another half mile home only to call upon his strength again at the crack of dawn. After filling the water trough and placing a blanket over Anchor, Caleb left the barn, his shoulder muscles aching after a long day.

  Once outside, he caught sight of Jonica standing in front of the kitchen sink, probably reddying-up the kitchen after supper.

  The woman was certainly a spitfire. Protective of her son. He’d been wrong to provoke her by calling her insecure—even though he sensed that insecurity dictated her actions. For some reason, Jonica wanted him to believe she was a good mother. Perhaps she was sensitive because her child wasn’t ill but apathetic. Laziness went against the Amish way, and negative traits tended to reflect on the mother’s upbringing. But most mothers probably resembled a wild bear when they or their offspring felt threatened. Even though Caleb was thirty years of age, his mother still defended him, especially to his father.

  Caleb headed toward the house to talk with Edna but stopped again as something about the way Jonica was staring out the window tugged at his heart. It was too dark for her to see past the porch steps, so she wasn’t looking at him. A flicker of sadness showed in her downturned lips. The boy was probably in bed, and she certainly didn’t appear to be rushing through dishes. Maybe she wanted some alone time.

  Caleb changed directions and crossed the yard to where he’d left Nutmeg in the corral. A sharp whistle brought the mare to the fence. He hitched the horse to the buggy, then took one last look at the kitchen window before he climbed onto the bench. When Jonica used her shoulder to rub her cheek, an unexpected heaviness filled his chest. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was tears she was drying.

  His stomach growled, a sharp reminder that he’d only eaten a peanut butter sandwich all day. Hopefully his mother made something good for supper. Caleb turned the buggy around in the driveway, taking another glimpse at the house. Jonica had disappeared from the window. He continued to the end of the driveway and turned onto the main road.

  He hadn’t noticed the temperature had dropped until he was almost home. Wind flapped against the buggy canvas, and cold air entered through the door trim crevasses. He wasn’t ready for winter. Dread settled in his bones as the idea of having to spend longer periods of time indoors crossed his mind. Working Edna’s fields had not only given him something constructive to do with his hands, but it gave him a place to go to avoid his father—avoid the pain Caleb had caused.

  He pushed the thoughts aside. Winter wasn’t something he could change, and neither was his father’s cold heart.

  Dim lights shone from the kitchen and sitting room windows as he pulled into the driveway. His father was probably reading the Scriptures as he faithfully did every evening. His mother was most likely tidying up the kitchen, waiting, wondering why Caleb hadn’t come home for supper. He bedded Nutmeg down in the barn, then ambled toward the house.

  Spying his father in his chair, the Bible open on his lap, Caleb drew a deep breath. “Hello, Daed.” Caleb removed his coat and hat.

  “You’re late for supper.” Daed didn’t look up from the Bible.

  “Sorry.” He would have liked to have sat and talked with his father about farming, but instead, Caleb removed his work boots, placed them next to the wall, then went into the kitchen, where his mother sat at the table, a pile of mending in a basket at her feet. “Sorry I’m late, Mamm.”

  She set her sewing aside and stood. “You’ve had a long day. Wash, and I’ll heat up
your meal.”

  Caleb rolled up his sleeves and soaped up at the sink as his mother scurried around the room. The tantalizing aroma overpowering his senses, he hurried through rinsing, then grabbed a clean dish towel from the drawer to dry his hands. “Something smells gut.” He sniffed, catching the scent of oregano and ground beef. “Meat loaf?”

  “Jah.” Mamm smiled, her fleeting joy only lasting a few seconds before despair shrouded her expression once again.

  He hadn’t seen her smile in months, at least not one that didn’t appear forced. His younger brother’s death had cast a dark veil over his family—forever changing them all. His father had withdrawn from everyone, spending long hours in the barn. When Daed was inside, he showed no emotion and spoke very little. While Mamm didn’t speak of Peter’s death, she cried a lot. Caleb had found her in the kitchen multiple times with her head buried in her hands, sobbing.

  Several months after the accident, as if realizing she had to display strength and move past the tragedy, she unearthed the ability to hide her emotions. She resumed normal activities around the house and attended sewing frolics and get-togethers with the womenfolk in the district, but Caleb wasn’t fooled. His mother still suffered deeply, both for the son she had lost and for the husband who had grown distant.

  And Caleb shouldered the guilt.

  He glanced over her shoulder at the green beans warming. “Need help?”

  “Nay, sit. Please.” She removed a plate from the overhead cabinet and utensils from the drawer.

  To satisfy his rumbling stomach, Caleb snatched a yeast roll from the basket, then took a seat at the table. The bread practically melted in his mouth.

  She placed the plate of food before him, then poured him a glass of milk. “Were you able to finish planting the fields?”

  He shook his head. “I had a few setbacks.”

  She set the glass of milk on the table and sat in the chair opposite him. “Nothing with Anchor, I hope? He’s young and would probably do better paired with— Well.” She picked up the sock she’d been darning and pulled her needle through. “I suppose I’m nett the one who should be handing out farming advice.”