When Mercy Rains Page 4

  He stopped at the gate to pay the parking fee. As the truck merged with other cars leaving the airport, he said, “We get asked that a lot. Especially since we have a set of twins in the family.”

  Alexa leaned as far forward as the seat belt would allow. She searched her memory for details from Grandmother’s annual Christmas letters, but she came up empty. “I’ve forgotten—which of your sisters has twins?” She shouted to make herself heard. Now revving at close to sixty miles an hour, the truck’s engine roared like an angry lioness.

  “Shelley and her husband, Harper.” Uncle Clete yelled, too, turning his face slightly to send his answer into the backseat. “Girls—six years old. Their names are Ruby and Pearl.”

  Now Alexa remembered. She’d thought the names pretty but old-fashioned. “Does Mom have any new nieces or nephews?” She tapped Mom’s shoulder with her fingertips, hoping to encourage her to ask these questions so she wouldn’t feel so nosy.

  “Our youngest sister, Sandra, and her husband, Derek, have a little boy named Ian. You probably know about him—he turned three last week—but they’re expecting another baby midsummer.” Uncle Clete flicked a quick look at Mom. “Just wondering … Wasn’t your husband able to come with you?”

  Mom turned her face toward the side window. Alexa frowned. Mom’s family didn’t already know she wasn’t married? Although puzzled, Alexa found no insult in the question. She’d adjusted to not having a father, and she’d hardly been the only girl in school being raised by a single mother. Mom had explained long ago how a foolish decision to break God’s instruction to save sex for the marriage bed resulted in her becoming pregnant.

  Watching Mom struggle to provide for her and be both mother and father had been a good lesson for Alexa. She wanted a family someday, but she wanted the support of a husband both physically and emotionally. She’d promised her mother she wouldn’t make the same mistake, and she intended to keep the promise.

  Mom still hadn’t answered, so Alexa piped up. “It’s just Mom and me.”

  Uncle Clete’s eyebrows descended. “I see.” He aimed his gaze forward, his jaw set so tightly the muscle in his cheek bulged.

  Mom stared out the side window at a landscape that looked so much like Indiana’s, Alexa had a hard time believing they weren’t still in their home state. Silence fell, making the truck’s engine seem to increase in volume. Alexa wriggled uncomfortably, wishing someone would say something.

  Uncle Clete cleared his throat. “Alexa, how old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  Mom suddenly seemed to come to life, sitting upright and turning to face Uncle Clete. Her face glowed bright red, but she spoke in a strong voice. “How long will I be needed?”

  He rolled his clenched fists on the plastic steering wheel. He didn’t look at Mom. “Why?”

  “Because I’d like to know.”

  Alexa wanted to know, too.

  Uncle Clete swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’d thought … for good.”

  Mom shook her head as if she hadn’t heard right. “I only arranged for a two-month leave.”

  He pulled in a deep breath and released it, his big frame sagging a bit as the air left his lungs. “Mother is never getting out of that wheelchair. The damage to her spine can’t be fixed. None of the rest of us know how to help her. You’re the nurse. Our missionary nurse.” His tone took on a bitter edge, as if he’d tasted something unpleasant. “Shelley, Sandra, and me … we figured you’d be happy to use your training to serve your mother.”

  Mom said, “Have you moved her into town?”

  Uncle Clete snorted. “She won’t leave her house.”

  “Of course she won’t.”

  Although she’d never seen it, Alexa held a picture in her head of Mom’s childhood home. A rambling farmhouse two stories tall with decorative gable trims, an attic, too many bedrooms to count, a spindled porch in front, and a screened sun porch off the kitchen. She’d dreamed about living in a century-old house exactly like the one in which Mom grew up, and even though Mom sounded dismayed, Alexa couldn’t resist a rush of elation at the thought of staying, even if only briefly, in the old house out away from town.

  “For the past four months, Tanya, Shelley, and Sandra have taken turns caring for her,” Uncle Clete went on. “But they have to bring the kids along, and Mother …” He slowed the truck and turned right onto a dirt road. He held the speed to a crawl, but even so, the truck bounced over ruts, making Alexa grateful for the seat belt holding her in place. She hoped the suitcases in the back wouldn’t fly over the edge.

  “Mother lost most of her patience a long time ago, and now that she’s hurting all the time, she pretty much has none. It doesn’t work to have the kids underfoot. That’s why we thought … We didn’t know about …” He snapped his mouth closed again.

  Mom sighed. A resigned sigh. “She shouldn’t be on the farm. I can’t imagine her trying to get around in a wheelchair out there.”

  “We’re fixing that.” He eased the truck around a bend. Up ahead, the farmhouse Alexa had envisioned in dozens of childhood daydreams materialized. She leaned forward and stared at the house as Uncle Clete continued. “It’s taken a while for him to clear his schedule enough to do everything we need done, but we hired a local contractor to put in ramps, widen the doorways, and rebuild the kitchen and bathroom to accommodate Mother’s wheelchair. You might remember him—Paul Aldrich.”

  A gasp escaped Mom’s lips, and Alexa turned her attention from the house’s white clapboard siding to Mom’s colorless face. A chill wound its way up Alexa’s spine. “Mom, are you all right?”

  Suzanne

  Paul Aldrich. At the mention of his name—a name Suzanne hadn’t heard spoken aloud since she was a girl of seventeen—memories flooded her mind. They came in such a rush, none took individual form but became a hodgepodge of images and feelings that left her dizzy. She closed her eyes and pressed her palms to her chest, willing the tidal wave of disjointed remembrances to pass.

  “Mom?”

  Alexa’s worried voice penetrated her muddled thoughts. With effort, Suzanne opened her eyes and forced a smile. She patted her daughter’s hand, which rested on the seat back, hoping neither Alexa nor Clete noticed how badly she trembled. “I’m fine, honey. I think my lack of sleep is catching up with me.”

  Concern glimmered in Alexa’s brown eyes, the golden flecks becoming more prominent as Clete opened his door and the glow from the dome light fell across her face. “Well, then, as soon as we’re inside you’re going to bed. You look so pale. I hope you aren’t getting sick.”

  Suzanne laughed lightly, amazed at how much the expression of amusement revived her. “Since when are you the nurse?”

  Alexa didn’t laugh in reply.

  Clete said, “My wife, Tanya, and the kids are here—they’re expecting us.”

  Suzanne glanced at the house. If they’d been expecting guests, why hadn’t someone turned on the porch light? Why were the rooms behind the panes of glass dark and forbidding? She eased out of the truck cab but stood in the triangle of weak light cast by the dome light, hugging herself.

  “I’ll get the suitcases. Just go on in. The door’s unlocked.” Clete slammed his door shut, startling Suzanne into dropping her pose.

  She closed her door more softly, then moved across the damp, cracked sidewalk to the porch. But once beneath the robin’s egg—blue porch ceiling, she couldn’t bring herself to open the screen door. Its slam on her final morning here still rang in her memory. Her mother had lectured the children to always close the door gently—slamming it would weaken the hinges—but on that morning Mother had allowed it to smack into its frame with force. Suzanne shivered.

  She shifted her attention to the gingerbread trim on the old porch door. The top right fan bracket was missing one delicate spindle, and the door’s green paint was crackled like alligator skin. Although dusk had fallen, encasing the porch in somber gray, she observed other evidences of neglect—chippe
d and peeling paint on the house’s clapboard siding, a shutter hanging loose, porch boards curling, and clumps of winter-brown overgrowth hugging the stone foundation. Obviously her mother’s accident had rendered her incapable of maintaining the house in the past few months, but this dilapidation was years in the making. Why hadn’t the fellowship or Clete kept up with repairs?

  Clete and Alexa stepped onto the porch, each pulling a suitcase. Clete frowned. “Haven’t you gone in yet?” He sounded impatient. “It’s still your home, Suz … zanne, even if you’ve chosen not to visit.”

  She could have snapped back that the “choice” to leave hadn’t been hers, but weariness weakened her bones. And her spirit. “I was waiting for you.”

  He heaved a sigh and reached for the screen door. The hinges creaked, seeming to beg for a squirt of oil. He wrenched the brass doorknob on the solid oak door and gave it a push. Holding the screen door open with his hip, he gestured for Suzanne and Alexa to enter. Alexa headed in first, curiosity igniting her face. Suzanne followed slowly. Her feet turned clumsy—partly from tiredness, partly from an overwhelming sense of déjà vu that left her lightheaded.

  Alexa had moved to the middle of the front room, but Suzanne stopped just inside the door, her gaze bouncing around in confusion. Same sofa and chair arranged in an L in the far corner. Same afghan draped over the sofa’s back. Same upright piano lurking on the opposite wall and same hymnal resting in the music rack. Same oak rocking chair in front of the window with a basket of yarn and half-completed projects on one side and a white-painted iron floor lamp standing sentry on the other. The sickening feeling of stepping back in time increased. In twenty years, had nothing changed?

  Clete tugged the lamp’s pull string, and light flooded the room. Tears sprang to Suzanne’s eyes. Yes, things had changed. Everything was faded. Dusty. Tired looking. The house and its contents hadn’t changed, but it seemed the joy that once filled its rooms had departed, leaving nothing but a soulless shell behind.

  The thunder of galloping feet carried from the enclosed staircase, and a pair of little girls with blond braids and big blue eyes careened into the room. “Dad! Dad!” they chorused, their high-pitched voices the first glimpse of joy Suzanne had seen since she met Clete in the airport. They dashed straight for him, forcing Alexa to move out of the way or be run down. He captured the pair in a hug and then planted a kiss on the top of each little head.

  As he straightened, he turned the girls toward Suzanne. “Julie, Jana, this is your aunt Suzanne. Say hello.”

  The older girl, Julie, offered a shy smile. “Hello.”

  But the younger one, who wriggled beneath Clete’s restraining hand on her shoulder, pointed at Alexa. “Who’s that?”

  Clete pushed his daughter’s hand downward. “It isn’t polite to point, Jana.”

  Jana craned her neck to peer into Clete’s face. “But who is that?”

  Alexa rested her palms on her knees, bringing her face level with the children’s. “I’m your cousin Alexa. It’s very nice to meet you, Jana and Julie.”

  “You’re pretty,” Jana blurted, then she caught her sister’s hand, and the pair raced out as quickly as they’d entered.

  Clete shook his head, an indulgent grin creasing his cheek. “Needless to say, they keep us hopping.”

  Alexa gazed after the little girls. “They’re adorable.”

  Suzanne recognized the wistfulness in her daughter’s tone, and remorse for all Alexa had been denied having been raised far from a large circle of family smote her once again. She’d never regretted keeping Alexa. Alexa was her God-given blessing. But she wished she could have given her gregarious child the things she desired most—a father, siblings, cousins.

  Clete cleared his throat. “Tanya and Mother are probably in the kitchen. Did you want to go on up to your room, or would you like to meet my wife?”

  Although sleep sounded heavenly, Suzanne said, “I’d like to meet Tanya.” But after she’d made the decision, she realized he’d said Mother would be there, too. Her feet refused to carry her forward.

  A hint of compassion softened her brother’s expression. “It’ll be all right. Tanya’s wanted to meet you for a long time.” He’d misunderstood her reluctance, but she didn’t bother to enlighten him. “I think she was even happier than Shelley and Sandra when we got your letter saying you’d come.”

  Suzanne wanted to ask why Shelley and Sandra hadn’t come out to the farmhouse to greet her, but she held the question inside, fearful of the answer. Her sisters had been so young when she left—only nine and five, not much older than little Jana. They probably barely remembered her.

  Clete headed toward the kitchen, and Suzanne looped arms with Alexa and followed. Memories rolled like an old movie reel as she moved past the dining room’s long trestle table and ladder-back chairs, then through the dim passageway lined with floor-to-ceiling cupboards. If she opened the first bottom cupboard, would she find the old marble game she, Clete, and Mother used to play when the chores were done on Saturday evening?

  A bare bulb hanging on twisted wires from the middle of the ceiling sent glaring light throughout the simple kitchen, and Suzanne blinked several times, her eyes protesting the onslaught. When she could focus again, her gaze settled on the slender form of a young woman standing at the kitchen sink with her back to them. She hummed as she sloshed a soapy cloth over dishes, the bow of her apron bobbing with her movements. A white mesh cap covered her hair, and black ribbons trailed across the shoulders of her blue print dress.

  The pungent aroma of spicy goulash permeated the narrow room, competing with the yeasty scent rising from a bowl on the back of the stove. The familiar smells combined with the image of the woman at the sink sent Suzanne backward in time. For a moment, she almost believed it was Mother standing there, just as she had hundreds of times during Suzanne’s childhood, and her heart swelled as longing to go back to those simpler times nearly buckled her knees.

  Then Clete said, “Tanya?” And the woman turned.

  Suzanne’s imagining was whisked away in a heartbeat. This woman’s face—round, smooth, unfamiliar—wasn’t Mother’s.

  Tanya broke into a wide smile. “Oh, my, I didn’t even hear you come in.” She came straight at Suzanne with wet, sudsy hands extended. Just before Tanya reached her, she seemed to remember what she’d been doing. She stopped and laughingly lifted her apron’s skirt to dry her hands. Then she grabbed Suzanne and clung hard.

  “Even if I didn’t know you were a Zimmerman, I’d know you were a Zimmerman.” Tanya laughed again and pulled back to smile into Suzanne’s face. “You look so much like Shelley and Sandra!”

  Clete put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Tanya, Suzanne brought her daughter with her. This is Alexa.”

  Although Tanya didn’t embrace Alexa the way she had Suzanne, she offered a smile of welcome. “Alexa … what a surprise. Welcome to Arborville.”

  “Thank you.” Alexa glanced around, seeming to take in the white-painted cupboards, the ruffled red-checked curtain at the single window, the 1960s-style refrigerator, and the lumbering six-burner gas stove. “This room is great. It’s so retro.” She turned eagerly to Suzanne. “But where is Grandmother?”

  Clete looked to Tanya, who shrugged sheepishly. “She often turns in early. She went to bed shortly after supper, and she won’t rouse until seven or so tomorrow morning. You’ll have to wait until then to meet her.”

  Alexa’s shoulders sagged in apparent regret, but Suzanne couldn’t deny relief at postponing their reunion. In her mind’s eye, she could still envision her mother’s stern face as she’d put her on the bus to Indianapolis so many years ago. Her disapproval had been palpable that day, and Suzanne had no desire to relive those heartbreaking minutes.

  Tanya said, “Are you hungry? I could reheat the goulash, or you could have some ham spread on crackers if you prefer something light.”

  Alexa steepled her hands beneath her chin in an expression of delight. “Goulash?
Oh, yum. I haven’t had goulash since I was a little girl. This couple Mom and I stayed with before I started school fixed goulash, and I loved it.”

  “Well, then, goulash it is.” Tanya moved briskly to the cabinets and removed a small saucepan. As she headed toward the stove, she spoke to Clete. “Would you go up and tell the children to put away their toys and get into their pajamas? As soon as I’ve fed Suzy and—”

  “Suzanne,” Clete and Suzanne chorused.

  Tanya flicked a quick puzzled frown at Clete, then went on in a cheery tone, “… Suzanne and Alexa some supper, I’ll be up to tuck them in.”

  Alexa followed Tanya to the refrigerator. “You can go up if you need to. I’ll heat the goulash. Just point me to the microwave.”

  Tanya laughed lightly. “We don’t have a microwave. But it won’t take long to heat on the trusty gas stove.”

  Alexa sent a wide-eyed look at Suzanne, which she decided to ignore. She moved to the cabinets and opened the upper one to the right of the sink. A stack of chipped pottery bowls waited on the second shelf. When she was younger, she’d had to climb on a little wooden stepstool to reach them, and as she lifted down the stack, she automatically peeked through the opening leading to the half bath. Sure enough, the battered little stool huddled in the corner like a sleeping cat.

  Clete paused in the kitchen doorway. “Wouldn’t you rather I take the children home so they can sleep in their own beds tonight? Now that Suzanne is here …”

  Suzanne’s pulse revved into double-beats.

  Tanya shook her head, the ribbons from her cap swaying. “Let’s stay tonight—give your sister a chance to sleep in tomorrow morning after her day of travel.” A soft smile graced her face. “I think a few days of getting reacquainted would be welcome before she assumes duties for your mother, don’t you think?”

  Clete offered a brusque nod, then turned on his heel and left the room. In his absence, an uncomfortable silence fell for a few seconds. Then Tanya retrieved a ladle from the drainer beside the sink and began transferring noodles and tomato sauce from the large kettle into the saucepan she’d placed on an iron burner.