When Mercy Rains (11 page)

Alexa already knew this, but she listened respectfully.

“I was happy to know she was studying to be a nurse. A worthwhile vocation. Ministering to people in need. Something a good Mennonite girl would want to do.” Grandmother’s voice turned so reflective, Alexa wondered if she’d forgotten she was speaking to someone besides herself. “And when she said she was working in a Mennonite hospital—a hospital that offered services for free or little cost to those in need—I was proud. Yes, proud. What mother wouldn’t be proud to have a missionary nurse for her daughter?”

If Grandmother was so proud of Mom, why hadn’t she ever let Mom know? Why did she only send a letter once a year? Why hadn’t she ever come to visit and see what Mom did? So many questions. But Grandmother had seemed to drift away to somewhere inside herself. If Alexa spoke she might startle her into another fainting episode. So she bit down on the end of her tongue and held her questions inside.

“Everyone in town knew I was the mother of a missionary nurse. No one else could make such a claim. They admired me for raising a daughter who would serve so unselfishly. And I held up my head and let them admire me.” Abruptly she lowered her hands and fixed Alexa with a rueful smile. “I would have been wise to remember, Alexa, the admonishment from Proverbs 16:18, ‘Pride goeth before destruction.’ ” She set her lips in a firm line and turned her face away.

A chill made its way across Alexa’s frame. Did Grandmother see her arrival as destruction? A series of bangs and thuds, the loudest yet, came from the other side of the door as if to underscore her thoughts. She stood, ready to flee the room and the ugly idea her grandmother had put in her head.

Mom stepped in holding a mug. Steam rose from the plain blue mug, bringing with it the rich aroma of coffee. Although Alexa had always loved the smell of brewed coffee, queasiness attacked. She scurried to the opposite side of the room.

Mom held the mug to Grandmother. “I’m afraid this is reheated coffee from the morning pot.”

Grandmother scowled at the contents as if flies were doing the backstroke in the liquid. “Why not fresh?”

“All that noise you’re hearing? That’s the contractor tearing out your cabinetry.” Mom’s cheeks bloomed a rosy hue. The steam from the coffee must have overheated her. Or maybe Grandmother’s grumpiness caused a blush of frustration. “He’d taped up a big sheet of plastic across the middle of the kitchen—I suppose to keep the dust mess to a minimum—and while the stove is accessible, the sink is on his side so I couldn’t get water. Luckily he stacked everything from the cabinets on the kitchen table so I could make use of a saucepan to reheat the coffee. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

Alexa’s patience wore out. She took a step forward. “Mom?”

Mom shifted her attention. She must have sensed Alexa’s tension because she frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Alexa folded her arms across her chest. Many things were wrong. “I need to talk to you.”

Grandmother waved her hand. “Give me that coffee. I’ve waited all morning for it.”

Alexa released a soft snort. For someone who claimed to be proud of her daughter, she sure didn’t treat her very well. Mom might as well have been a minion and Grandmother a reigning despot. “Mom, I need to talk to you.”

“Suzanne!” Grandmother raised her voice, nearly shouting. “I want my coffee.”

Mom placed the mug in Grandmother’s waiting hands. “Here you are, Mother. Be careful. It’s hot.”

“It’s supposed to be hot. Don’t treat me like an imbecile.” Grandmother took a sip, grimaced, then shrugged and finally looked at Mom. Alexa expected her to offer a thank-you, but she said, “My legs are cramping. Do you know how to massage cramping muscles?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then do it. My toes are starting to curl.” She zipped her glare at Alexa. “There’s no need for you to stay in here and watch your mother play nurse. Go explore. Read a book. Hang towels with Tanya.”

Alexa had never been so rudely dismissed. Her face burned.

Grandmother added in a surprisingly gentle voice, “You’ve spent enough of your day stuck in a room with a crotchety old lady. So go.”

Alexa looked at Mom, asking with her expression,
Should I?
Mom gave a slight nod. Alexa sighed. She headed for the door, then stopped next to her mother. “When you’re finished here, please come find me. I really do need to talk to you about something important.”

“Your mother will be spending her day with me, Alexa, so you’ll have to entertain yourself.” Grandmother sipped her coffee, her bearing as regal as a queen’s. “Before you go, though, do you see the small drawer on the right-hand side of my dressing table?”

While sitting in the corner earlier, Alexa had admired Grandmother’s antique dressing table with its oval mirror, tiny side drawers, and teardrop door pulls. She nodded.

“Open it and take out what’s inside.”

Alexa slid the little drawer open. The space was empty except for a wadded handkerchief. Puzzled, she picked it up. The layers of linen held an oddly shaped lump that gave it a heft she didn’t expect. Alexa carried the little package to the bed and held it out.

Grandmother shook her head. “I don’t want it. I want you to take it. Call it a … belated birthday gift.”

A rumpled old handkerchief? Somehow it seemed an appropriate gift.

“Your mother is going to massage my legs now, so go on.” Grandmother raised her mug again and shifted her gaze toward the window.

Cradling the handkerchief in her hand, Alexa left the room. Mom closed the door behind her, leaving her in the dining room with the mutter of voices behind her and continuing bangs and thumps waiting in the kitchen. She scuffed her way to the front room where a shaft of sunshine poured through the window and highlighted thousands of tiny dust particles. She passed through the sunlight, sending the particles scattering, and sank onto the sofa.

Curiosity overcame her. What had Grandmother stored all by itself in the little drawer? She peeled back one flap of the handkerchief. A chain made of thick links slipped from the wadded fabric and drooped all the way to her lap.
What on earth …
 She pinched the end of the chain and pulled it free of the handkerchief. The wispy square of cloth with its tiny pink embroidered flowers fell to the floor, and she gasped.

Suspended on the glistening chain, a round gold locket as big as a quarter caught the light and tossed it back. The shiny disk rotated on the chain, giving Alexa a glimpse of etching on the other side. She laid the locket flat on her palm and examined the filigreed markings. She recognized the letters, the center one representing Zimmerman larger than those flanking it—AZJ. Her grandmother’s monogram. Her monogram.

Her heart turned a flip inside her chest. She covered her mouth with her trembling fingers. What kind of game was Grandmother playing?

Paul

Paul pried the final cabinet loose with a downward thrust of his crowbar. Nails screeched like angry cats and released their hold on the wall. He dropped the crowbar onto the floor to catch the sturdy box before it fell onto the countertop. He carried it to the porch and set it on the floor with the others. Straightening, he wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve. Crisp air eased through the porch’s screened walls, and he paused for a moment to enjoy what Karina used to call the kiss of spring.

His gaze drifted across the row of cabinets. He’d been pleased to discover they were identical in size, each fifteen inches wide by twenty-eight inches tall. Reassembling them on the floor as one large unit—four across and two high—would allow Mrs. Zimmerman to have access to every shelf. Clete had readily accepted the suggestion to reuse the existing cabinetry. And why toss them out? They were solid yellow pine, built by a craftsman who took pride in his labor. Once Paul placed them on a short platform and added decorative molding, no one would ever guess they were made-overs.

Of course, he’d need to apply another coat of paint to make the cabinets look truly new. Unfortunately his crowbar had left some scratches and dings in the wood. But a little filler, sanding, and paint would fix them up again. He found great satisfaction in taking something worn out and giving it new life. Additionally, refurbishing old-but-still-usable items saved money and time,
which made him a good steward. Being a good steward earned respect in his community.

He turned to go back inside, but he caught sight of someone walking along the clothesline. Tanya had driven away in Clete’s truck only a few minutes ago, so who was out there? The sheets waving gently on the line hid all but the person’s feet. He watched the steady progress of white-and-pink tennis shoes worn over anklet socks until the wearer emerged on the other side of the clothesline. Ah, Suzy’s daughter, Alexa.

The girl moved slowly across the yard toward the barn, her head low. She seemed to be examining something she held in her cupped hands, but Paul couldn’t tell what it was from this distance. And what did it matter? He had a job to do—he’d best get to it. He aimed his feet for the kitchen door, but a shriek from outside changed his direction. He dashed into the yard as another shrill scream, accompanied by wild barking, pierced the air.

He rounded the corner of the house to find the Zimmermans’ black-and-white border collie, Pepper, giving Alexa an exuberant welcome. Muddy paw prints decorated the girl’s skirt. She held her hands in the air as if under arrest while the dog joyfully leaped around her, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Although Pepper meant no harm, the girl was clearly terrified. He called out sternly, “Pepper, sit!”

Without a moment’s pause, Pepper plopped down on her furry behind and panted up at the girl.

Alexa gave Paul a look of pure relief as he closed the distance between them. “Thank you so much. I was afraid he’d knock me flat.”

Paul hid a smile. He put his hand on the dog’s head. “Pepper’s really a friendly old girl. And she responds well to commands, so the next time she charges at you, just tell her to sit, and she’ll do it.” Pepper whined, wriggling in place. Paul gave her head a pat to encourage her to stay put, then he stuck out his hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Paul Aldrich.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Alexa.” She gave his hand a quick, polite pump and then shot the dog a sour look. “I’m glad to know how to control that hairy
beast in the future, but I’m afraid you told me too late. When she jumped on me, I dropped my locket.” Pepper followed Alexa’s movements with bright eyes as she began searching the ground. The dog poised, as if to leap.

“Pepper, stay,” Paul said before joining Alexa in the search. He chuckled when he spotted the glint of gold in the thick grass about six feet behind her. “You didn’t just drop it—you must have launched it.” He stooped down and picked it up. Although he wasn’t an expert when it came to jewelry, he knew an antique when he saw one. The weight of the chain and its pendant spoke of solid gold, not the cheap gold-plated necklaces available today.

He released a soft whistle as he handed it to Alexa. “I’m glad we found it. You wouldn’t want to lose that.”

She cradled it to her chest. “No, I wouldn’t. My … grandmother gave it to me.”

“Was it her betrothal locket?”

The girl blinked at him, confusion marring her face. “Her what?”

“Betrothal locket.” Obviously Suzy no longer lived the Old Order lifestyle. Her clothes, though modest, didn’t match the caped dresses worn by the women of their sect. But why hadn’t she told her daughter about their traditions? He pointed to the round pendant. “You see, when a young man in our sect wishes to become published—”

Alexa’s brow crinkled.

Paul added, “ ‘Published’ means becoming engaged.”

Sincere interest replaced her expression of confusion.

“He gives the girl a locket. If she wears it in public, then he knows she’s accepted the invitation. After the wedding the wife usually puts a picture of her husband inside. I bet if you look, you’ll find a photo of your grandfather in that one.”

Alexa gazed down at the locket for several seconds. Then she gave him a hopeful look. “Do you know how to open it? I couldn’t find a latch.”

He needed to return to work, but for reasons beyond his comprehension, opening the locket for Alexa took priority over cleaning up his mess in the
kitchen. He held out his hand, and she slipped it into his palm. He turned the locket this way and that, seeking a means of releasing the catch, and then smiled. “Here it is. See?” He pressed a tiny knob concealed beneath the decorative link connecting the locket to the chain, and the two halves popped open as smoothly as they probably had the day it was purchased.

Her face lit up. She took the locket and stared at the black-and-white image tucked into the bottom disc. “So that’s my grandfather …” Tears shimmered in her eyes. She blinked quickly, clearing the moisture. She grinned. “He was very handsome.”

Paul couldn’t comment on that—what did he know of handsome? But he shared what he knew to be true. “Cecil Zimmerman was a good man. Quiet, gentle, hard working.” He’d always thought Suzy was natured more like her father than her outspoken mother. “I had a lot of respect for him. Our community suffered a great loss when he went on to his eternal reward. God surely welcomed Cecil into heaven with accolades for being a good and faithful servant.”