When Mercy Rains (26 page)

Wednesday, feeling fidgety, she borrowed her grandmother’s car and drove to Wichita. The GPS on her phone led her directly to a huge arts and crafts store with a vast selection of party goods. After browsing up and down the aisle three times and examining the options, she selected plates with a bright yellow center and a border of overlapping bold pink, orange, purple, and blue flowers. She considered using yellow for the napkins and decorations, but on a whim instead loaded her cart with pink napkins, yellow plastic tablecloths, and balloons and streamers in orange, purple, and blue. With a giggle, she added a disposable helium tank to the cart. Why not make the balloons float? The children would love it.

In the floral department she located clusters of silk daisies in every color of
the rainbow. She chose three bunches in each of the colors in the plates, then grabbed several bags of clear marbles and some simple clear glass vases to hold the flowers, inwardly picturing the vases with two or three balloons tied to the necks. That thought led her to the ribbon department. Wouldn’t it be nice to add big bows to the vases as well as the corners of the tablecloth and maybe the back of each chair? She tossed in six-yard rolls of both one- and two-inch ribbon in the same colors as the flowers, planning to mix them for a more exuberant display.

As she headed for the checkout counter, she glanced at the tumble of items in the bottom of the cart and couldn’t help smiling. Such an explosion of colors! Grandmother’s party would be a feast for the eyes. Even if her uncles told her she shouldn’t have the house painted, at least the interior would be bright and cheerful for Grandmother’s celebration.
But, God, I really want to make the old house look alive again. Please let them say yes. Please, please, please …

The prayer rolled in the back of her mind all the way home. When she reached the lane leading to the farmhouse, she noticed Clete’s pickup pulled up next to Mr. Aldrich’s. The men were both busy applying white paint to the newly constructed wooden ramp. Alexa parked beside Uncle Clete’s truck, left her purchases in the trunk, and trotted across the grass to the men.

“It’s done already? It looks fantastic!”

“Thanks.” Mr. Aldrich continued applying the paintbrush while he spoke. “Its main purpose is functional, but I wanted it to look nice, too.”

“Oh, it does.” She took several backward steps to admire the ramp from a bit of a distance. Mr. Aldrich had matched the railing and spindles to the porch, making the ramp seem like a natural extension. Once they planted flowers or some low bushes in front of the ramp, it would look as though it had always been there. Unconsciously, she grimaced. As wonderful as the ramp looked, the fresh coat of glossy white paint served to make the rest of the house look even more run-down in comparison.

She darted forward again and moved close to Uncle Clete. “White’s exactly
what I wanted for the porch posts, railing, and spindles. It’s clean and crisp looking. So I’m glad you’re using that for the ramp. It’ll blend in … with the porch.” Would he catch the hint?

He glanced at her, letting her know he’d heard her, but he didn’t say anything.

Alexa waited a few seconds, debating with herself about tossing out another hint or letting the subject go for the moment. But in the end, she couldn’t stand it. Taking a step closer to her uncle, she clasped her hands tightly at her waist. “What have you decided? About the house, I mean … me hiring a crew to paint it?”

Uncle Clete paused with one elbow on his bent knee and his head hanging low. Alexa waited, nearly squirming in place, as he set the paintbrush on the edge of the can and stretched to his feet. “I was going to talk to you after supper, but I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

She searched his face, hoping for some sign of what he was thinking. She’d never met a more stoic person in her life.
Please, please …
 The simple prayer repeated itself with every beat of her pulse. “So …” She held her breath.

He spoke in a flat tone that matched his expression. “Derek and Harper and me decided no.”

Alexa’s breath heaved out in one mighty whoosh of discouragement. Hardheaded men!

Paul

From the look on Suzy’s daughter’s face, Clete needed to prepare for a storm. Paul continued applying paint to the ramp while observing the girl out of the corner of his eye. Children in his community were taught to respect their elders. None of the youth from Arborville’s Mennonite fellowship would dare argue with an adult. But how would Alexa react?

Before the girl formed a word, Clete went on in his usual straightforward manner. “It’s too much money for you to spend.”

“It’s my money, Uncle Clete. Shouldn’t I be able to use it the way I want to?” She’d argued, but in such a respectful tone Paul couldn’t find fault with her.

“We appreciate what you want to do. But we can’t let you do it.”

Alexa blinked several times. Paul recognized the attempt to hold tears at bay—Karina had used the same method. His heart lurched in sympathy. A woman in tears always affected him. He came close to speaking in Alexa’s defense.

“Not all by yourself.”

Alexa gave a little jolt, and Paul did, too, splotching his knee with white paint. He stood and reached for a rag as Clete continued.

“Derek and Harper and me talked it over, and we agree the house needs painting. Since we are already paying Paul for his work out here, we can’t buy paint. So …” Clete looked away from Alexa, his tanned cheeks streaking with
red. Paul already sensed what he planned to say, but the big man wasn’t finding it easy to ask for help. “If you’ll use your money to buy paint, we’ll bring the fellowship men together to paint the house.”

A beaming smile broke across Alexa’s face. “Like the picture I showed Sandra? With all the different colors?”

Clete frowned, but he offered a brusque nod. “Sandra said it was …” He scratched his ear. “Colorful but tasteful. I trust her judgment. So you and me can drive to Wichita one day soon and buy paint. If all the men help, we should be able to scrape and prime the house in one day, then paint it on another day.”

“Thank you!”

“Mm-hm. Er, you’re welcome. Thank you for buying the paint.” He still angled his gaze to the left.

Alexa reached toward Clete, her movement hesitant. She placed her fingertips on his sleeve and looked up until he finally turned and met her gaze. Sincerity glimmered in her dark eyes. “Your idea is better than mine, letting Grandmother’s church family have a hand in making the house beautiful again. I think it will mean even more to her knowing how everyone came together to do the work.”

“Yes, well, speaking of work …” Clete stepped away from the girl’s touch. “I need to get back to painting. I’ll let you know when we can go after paint.”

“All right. I’ll call the contractor in Pratt and tell him I don’t need an estimate after all.” Alexa inched backward, her smile as bright as the sun. “Remember, though, it’s supposed to be her birthday present, so we can’t wait too long.”

“I know, I know.” Clete bent down and dipped his paintbrush in the can.

Alexa clattered up the porch steps and stepped through the door, calling, “Mom, Grandmother! I’m home!”

Clete gazed after her, his hand still and his forehead pinched into furrows.

Paul couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. “That paint won’t jump from the can onto the wood. Get busy over there.”

Clete made a face but he put his hand to work.

Paul finished carefully coating another spindle before speaking again. “It’s a nice thing Suzy’s daughter is doing—buying paint for the house.”

“Yeah.” Clete grunted the word.

“It’s good of you to let her. It obviously means a lot to her, to be able to help. She’s a nice girl.”

Clete set his lips in a stern line and applied paint in stiff, jerky motions.

Paul sent a puzzled look in Clete’s direction. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’.”

Paul laughed. “Clete, I’ve known you since you were a snot-nosed four-year-old spying on Suzy and me from the bushes, and I know when something is bothering you.” When Clete’s expression remained dour, Paul sobered. “You could’ve told Alexa no. If you’re that worried about painting the house, why’d you agree to do it?”

Clete blew out a big breath. “Because the house needs it. It needed it even before Dad died. Another season with the wood exposed and we’d probably have to replace boards because of rot. It’s got to be done.”

“Then why so glum?”

Clete pinned Paul with a glare. “Because it’s taken an outsider to do what I should’ve done years ago. Before Dad died, he talked about getting the house painted, but Mother threw a fit—refused to let him touch it. Dad decided to wait a year, see if she’d be more receptive to it, but he died before he could ask again. So I asked. She screeched so loud I was afraid the neighbors would think I was killing her.”

He painted as he spoke, his hand moving faster and more stiffly with each sentence. “Every time anybody’s said anything about the house—painting it, moving the furniture, buying something new—Mother has gone into what Shelley calls conniptions. I don’t know why she’s so determined to let the place go to ruin, but that’s the way she is. Then here comes Alexa …” The man suddenly ceased all movement. “She seems to like Alexa. So maybe, since it’s her idea, Mother won’t …”

Paul’s can was empty, which gave him an excuse to get up and move around
the ramp to where Clete bent on one knee. He put his hand on Clete’s shoulder. “It’s got to be done, Clete. We all know it. Can’t let this fine old house fall apart.”

“I know.”

Something Clete had said earlier whispered through Paul’s memory, and he frowned. “Why’d you call Alexa an ‘outsider’? I know she’s not from our fellowship and you’ve only just met, but she’s part of your family.”

“Yeah, I know.” Clete took Paul’s empty can and poured half of his paint into it. “I just can’t get comfortable around her. Because she’s”—he thrust the can at Paul and finished gruffly—“illegitimate.”

Cold chills erupted across Paul’s arms. Unexpectedly, defensiveness rose along with the chills. “That’s not her fault. If you come right down to it, we ought to call the parents illegitimate rather than the child because they’re the ones who chose to engage in intimacy outside of marriage. The child is innocent of wrongdoing.”

His bold words echoed in his mind, stinging him with the truth. He’d taken Suzy in ways a man shouldn’t with anyone except his wife. They’d only done it that one time, but even so, he’d been wrong. Remembering how awful he’d felt afterward about being so selfish, he’d kept himself pure right up until the day he married Karina. But he couldn’t help worrying that his indiscretion opened a pattern of promiscuity in Suzy’s life. How else could he explain Suzy having a child but no husband?

“Look, Paul, I don’t want to talk about this.” Clete rose, thumping his paintbrush into his can as he straightened. “I’ve heard enough of it from Tanya.”

Paul hid a smile, imagining lively, enthusiastic Tanya jabbering in Clete’s ear.

“And I’m praying about it. Plenty. But it’s gonna take time. Having a teenage niece dumped on me by my sister who ran off and got herself in trouble when I was just a kid isn’t exactly easy. To be perfectly frank, it embarrasses me.”

Bitterness carried heavily in Clete’s voice. Paul, as an older man in the
fellowship, should advise or admonish lovingly, but what could he say that wouldn’t be hypocritical? He had no business lecturing Clete for his actions when his own had been so questionable. Were
still
questionable. He hadn’t asked Suzy’s forgiveness yet.

He searched for something to say that might soothe Clete without sounding like a criticism. “Well, try to remember Suzy’s choices were her own. You aren’t responsible for what she did.”
But I am
. “So you don’t need to be embarrassed.”
But I do
.

“Yeah.” Clete removed his ball cap, ran his hand over his sweaty hair, then settled the cap back in place. “Easy for you to say, not so easy for me to do.” He stepped around the paint can at his feet. “This is almost done. Can you finish up alone? I have some work in the barn.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Paul watched Clete trudge toward the barn, his shoulders slumped and head low as if weighted by a mighty burden. Paul became aware of a dull ache between his shoulder blades from today’s labor. Or was it from the weight of guilt?

He’d eaten the lunches Mrs. Zimmerman insisted on giving him, but he’d eaten in the yard rather than in the house, trying to distance himself from Suzy and the old memories that wanted to pummel him every time she was near. But he’d put off his talk with her long enough. He had to leave by three to be home when Danny got there. Which meant he had an hour to finish the ramp and catch Suzy for a short, private conversation.

Lord, open the door, and then give me the courage to march through it. Just as the old house is due for a good scraping and repaint, I’m due to shed these regrets from the past and start new with Suzy
. Praying helped ease the tension in his shoulders. He set to work with the paintbrush again, keeping one eye on his wristwatch so he wouldn’t miss his self-imposed deadline to issue that too-long-held apology.