When Mercy Rains (18 page)

Suzanne

When Clete’s pickup pulled into the yard, Suzanne was waiting. As soon as he turned off the ignition, she scuffed tiredly across the yard. All the treks up and down the basement stairs with baskets of laundry had exhausted her. Or maybe she should blame the many trips down memory lane her brief conversation with Paul had inspired.

Tanya slid out first and came at Suzanne with open arms. She bestowed a hug, the ribbons from her cap tickling Suzanne’s cheek, then pulled back and smiled.

“We brought fried chicken, potato salad, that Jell-O fruit salad with the little marshmallows Mother Zimmerman likes so much, and biscuits. Picnic fare! We thought we’d spread blankets on the ground and enjoy this nice May weather before it gets too hot to be outdoors.”

“That sounds fine,” Suzanne said.

The truck’s back door popped open, and the children spilled out, whooping in excitement. Pepper, still locked in the barn, barked in response. After listening to the pound of Paul’s hammer all afternoon, Suzanne’s senses were in overdrive. The cacophony pierced her ears. She winced.

“Jay Cletus Zimmerman!” Tanya caught hold of her son’s arm. “Julie and Jana, you too, stop that hollering. You’ll upset your grandmother.”

Laughing instead of yelling, the trio took off for the barn. Suzanne cupped her hands and called after them, “Don’t let Pepper out!” They waved in response.

Tanya turned an apologetic expression on Suzanne. “They’ve been wound up like this all day. I think being cooped up for so many rainy days has left them with pent-up energy.”

Suzanne forced a smile. “It’s all right.” She moved around to Clete, who was lifting a large wicker basket from the truck’s bed. “I need to talk to you.”

He set the basket on the ground and reached for the second one. “Sure. We can talk while we eat.”

“I mean in private.”

Tanya stepped close. “Alexa can help me set up for supper. You two could go to the summer kitchen. No one will bother you there.”

Clete glanced at Suzanne. “That okay with you?”

Suzanne had loved the old summer kitchen when she was growing up. Using it for a playhouse rather than its intended purpose, she’d wiled away many days in the cheerful little building. She nodded.

Clete handed Tanya the basket. “All right then. Come on, Suze.”

They walked side by side behind the house where Paul’s truck still sat beneath a towering cottonwood tree, its back hatch down and tools scattered across the bed. Clete slowed when they neared the newly poured ramp. Splotches of lighter gray showed where the cement had started to dry.

Suzanne pointed. “You’ll want to keep the kids off the ramp. Paul said we shouldn’t use it until tomorrow evening.”

Clete stopped and frowned at the ramp for a few moments, then he set off for the toolshed at the corner of the yard. He returned with a hammer, two wooden stakes, and a coil of rope. He pounded the stakes into the ground, then used the rope to create a barrier around the ramp. He stepped back and nodded at his handiwork. “That should tell the kids to keep away.” Hooking the hammer in the loop on his work pants, he set off again in the direction of the summer kitchen.

Suzanne followed, taking in the appearance of the small building as they approached. Weeds had grown up all around the foundation, but she noted places where the old concrete blocks were crumbling. The screen door hung by one hinge, so Clete opened it flat against the lap siding. Weeds anchored it in place.

Suzanne turned the doorknob, but the door didn’t budge. “Is it locked?”

Clete stepped forward. “There’s never been a lock on it. The old wood is probably swollen from the rain.” He gave the door a solid push with his shoulder, and it groaned open. An unpleasant odor—mildew, mice, and neglect—wafted out. He made a face. “You sure you wanna go in there?”

Suzanne shrugged. “Is there someplace else we can be alone?”

“Probably not.”

“Then let’s go.” She entered the room, experiencing another strange sensation of stepping back in time. How many mud pies had she baked in the old cast-iron stove in the corner? She’d loved doing her homework out here, with all the windows open and a sweet breeze washing through. Now rusty patches dotted the majestic old stove and its pipe lay across the floor. A once-white painted wood table and two Windsor chairs remained in the middle of the floor.

Suzanne crossed to the table and pulled out a chair. It was coated with dust, but she sat gingerly on the cracked seat. The joints popped but held. Clete left the door open and took the second chair, sitting as carefully as she had. Once seated, he braced his palms on his thighs. “Will this take long? Mother likes to eat promptly at 5:45.”

“I’ll try to make it brief.” But as she gazed into her brother’s unsmiling face, her carefully prepared speech fled, leaving jumbled, disjointed thoughts in its stead.

Clete frowned. “What is it, Suzanne?”

She pulled in a breath, gathering her courage. “It isn’t going to work for me to stay and care for Mother long term. She resists everything I do. I think she even resents me being here. I know you’re concerned about the cost, but if all four of us pool our resources, we should be able to afford a night nurse. Because
Mother’s injury is permanent, there are programs available to provide part-time care. I’ve already put out some queries, and I’m gathering information. As soon as I have replacements available, I will return to Indiana. I wanted to let you know what I was doing.”

Clete stared at her for a few seconds, his expression blank. Then he rose. “Okay. Is that it?”

Suzanne released a soft, humorless laugh. She’d expected an argument. Or a series of questions. She didn’t know what to think of his emotionless acceptance. “Not quite.”

With a sigh, he sat again.

“Clete, the house …” She chewed her lower lip for a moment, seeking the right words, but there was no kind way to say what she thought. “It’s a mess. I realize Mother can’t do much now from her chair, but the disrepair is much older than her injury. Obviously it’s been neglected for years. Even Paul expressed concern that it might fall to ruin if something isn’t done soon.” She glanced around the dim interior of the summer kitchen. The cracked windows, peeling wallpaper, and sagging tin ceiling with exposed patches of lath where plaster had fallen away made her sad.

She turned to Clete again. “Mother and Dad taught us to take good care of our belongings, to see them as gifts from God. I don’t understand why everything looks so run-down and unkempt. Dad wouldn’t have let things go this way.”

Clete stood so quickly he nearly tipped the chair. “How would you know?”

She drew back in confusion. Although the light was muted, the dirty windowpanes blocking the sun, she read anger in his square face. “Know … what?”

“What Dad would have done. You’ve been gone for twenty years, Suzanne. People change in twenty years. How could you possibly know Dad? Or Mother, or me or Shelley or Sandra, or your nieces and nephews?” His voice grew more harsh with every additional family relationship mentioned. He shook his head, his forehead crunching into stern lines. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings,
but I resent you telling me what should and shouldn’t be done when you haven’t even been around to share in this family for so long.”

Her brother’s blunt comment hurt her deeply and raised defensiveness, but she tamped down both emotions and chose a reasonable tone. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Clete. I was only asking
why
things look the way they do. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“And what you plan to do doesn’t make sense to me.” He curled his lips into a contemptuous snarl. “Shelley told us we were crazy, but Sandra and me hoped—” He released a low growl and swept his hand across the tabletop. Dust flew in a glittering arc toward the floor and peppered the toes of his boots. He stared at his feet for a moment, his frame stiff, and then he faced her again. His anger had faded, but Suzanne couldn’t determine whether sorrow or simple apathy replaced it.

“You wanna know the truth? The deacons offered to give us benevolence funds to pay for a nurse. But I told them no. I told them to save those funds for somebody who really needs them. We have a nurse in our family, and she’ll come help. After all, that’s what families do for each other—they
help
.” He blew out a short huff and turned toward the window. Leaning forward, he braced his hands on the windowsill and gazed outward. “Don’t I look the fool.”

Guilt—a far-too-familiar emotion—flooded Suzanne. She moved slowly to her brother and placed her hand on his arm. “It isn’t that I don’t care. But—”

He jolted upright and stepped away, dislodging her hand. “Of course you don’t care. How could you? As I said, you don’t know us. You’ve been gone for so long, you probably don’t even remember teaching me to play checkers. Or how many times you rode bikes with me down to the pond to skip rocks.” His gaze narrowed into a challenging glare. “Do you remember that baby sparrow I found under the bushes? Do you remember arguing with Dad about taking care of it? He didn’t want you to—said it was just a sparrow and you should let the barn cats eat it. But you said it was one of God’s creatures and it deserved a chance to grow up and fly. So he let us keep it in an old rabbit cage, and we fed
it worms and beetles and whatever else we could catch. When it was big enough, we took it out to the cornfield and let it loose.”

Tears swam in Suzanne’s eyes, distorting her vision, but her memories were clear. She nodded. “I remember. We even prayed for it before we set it free, for God to keep it safe.”

“Uh-huh.” Clete’s gaze shifted to somewhere beyond Suzanne’s shoulder. He seemed to drift away into his memories. “We held hands while we watched the bird fly off, and I thought then my big sister could fix anything.” He gave a little jolt and shot a resentful look at her. “When you’re eight, you’re pretty gullible. By the time you’re in your thirties you should know better.”

She whisked away her tears with her fingertips. “I’m sorry for letting you down. But Mother doesn’t want me here. And I—”

He clomped past her and paused on the threshold. Sunshine lit his serious face and brought out the bronze of his skin. He looked so much like their father, more tears spurted into Suzanne’s eyes. He flicked a loose curl of paint from the doorjamb with his fingertip and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. As I said, people change. It’s my fault for thinking you were still the sister I remembered.” A tight smile formed on his face. “We’ve managed this long without you. I guess we don’t need you after all.” He strode off without a backward glance.

Abigail

Abigail felt a bit like a Roman goddess reclining in her lounge chair while Tanya, Alexa, and the children sat in a circle on a tattered quilt spread on the grass. Although they tried to include her—Tanya was especially ingratiating, continually asking her questions and offering her another scoop of fruit salad, more jam for her biscuit—Abigail was still apart, separated by the height of the lounger and her own self-imposed isolation.

She nibbled at a crisply fried chicken wing, listening to Julie and Jana squabble and Tanya referee. Tanya was so diplomatic. So patient. Abigail remembered being patient that way with her children. When she was young. Before the weight of guilt and the entanglement of lies had taken control of her. People blamed her ill temper and intolerance on her widowed state or the accident. But she knew better. Even before she’d lost Cecil and then the use of her legs, she’d lost her happiness. She had no hope of regaining any of them. So why shouldn’t she be bitter?

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to drift away. She’d always loved picnics. The children’s merry chatter, the fresh spring breeze, and the aromas from the food teased her senses and carried her back to other days, other picnics, when she’d knelt on the blanket and doled out chicken legs and sandwiches and fruit to her children. Her lighthearted voice rang in the recesses of her mind—
“Careful, Clete, don’t spill your lemonade or the ants will come marching two by two.”
The days were sweet in her memory, and longing to return to those simpler, carefree times nearly turned her heart inside out.