When Mercy Rains (28 page)

“I’ll do it.”

Mother chuckled. “Don’t fight over me, girls.”

Shelley snorted.

Suzanne sighed.

They formed a tense parade with Alexa in the lead and Suzanne bringing up the rear. She battled the urge to deliver a swift kick to her sister’s posterior, but fortunately a prayer for patience alleviated the temptation.

White rocking chairs lined the long porch in the front of the restaurant, and Alexa paused to set one in motion. “I love these,” she said, sending a grin across the group. “Wouldn’t a pair of them be pretty on your porch, Grandmother?”

Shelley said, “She already has a porch swing, two folding lawn chairs, and a lounger. It would be cluttered with those things there, too.”

Alexa’s smile dimmed momentarily, but it rejuvenated so quickly Suzanne was certain she was the only one who noticed the lapse. “You could replace the folding lawn chairs with these. The rockers are so much prettier, and they’re a lot more comfortable, too. Try one, Aunt Shelley, and you’ll see.”

Shelley raised one eyebrow. “It would be a foolish waste of money to buy chairs when the ones we have are still good.”

The ones on the porch had been used for so many years, the straps sagged and the metal frames were rusting, but it would be pointless to say so. Suzanne linked elbows with Alexa and steered her toward the door. “Let’s get inside, huh? I bet Mother is hungry. I know I am. I’m looking forward to chicken pot pie. Theirs is as good as any I’ve ever made at home.”

Shelley’s derisive snort blasted from behind Suzanne. “No restaurant pot pie could ever be as good as homemade. At least, not
my
homemade.”

Alexa shot Suzanne a frustrated look, which Suzanne returned before
tapping her finger against her lips. A hostess led them to a square table next to the windows giving them a view of flowering gardens and a tiny fountain.

Shelley grimaced. “The sun is shining in too much here. It hurts my eyes. Can we sit over there instead?”

“Of course.” Without breaking her stride, the hostess seated them in the corner Shelley had indicated. Not even one finger of sunlight reached them. She handed out menus, informed them Patricia would be their server, and finished brightly, “Enjoy your lunch!”

Shelley snapped her menu open and scowled at the pages. “How are you supposed to read this thing? It’s so dark in here.”

Mother angled a disbelieving look at her. “Gracious sakes, Shelley, you’re the one who didn’t want to sit in the sunshine. Stop your fussing and find something to eat!”

Shelley set her lips in a grim line and examined the menu in steamy silence.

Suzanne stifled a sigh of relief and savored the brief quiet. As much as she’d anticipated time with Shelley, she now regretted inviting her along. What should have been a pleasurable outing had turned into a day of tension. She could hardly wait to return to Arborville and separate herself from her sister. The realization saddened her.

Their server approached and flashed a beaming smile. “Hello, ladies! I’m Patricia, and I’ll be taking care of you today. What can I bring you to drink?”

“Water with lemon, please,” Alexa said.

Suzanne nodded. “Water with lemon would be great, thank you.”

Mother requested coffee, and Patricia turned to Shelley. “And you, ma’am?”

Shelley turned her unsmiling gaze upward. “Do you have brewed sweet tea?”

“Sweet tea.” The girl jotted it onto her pad.

“Wait.” Shelley held up her hand like a traffic cop stopping cars. “I asked if you have
brewed
sweet tea.”

Patricia’s forehead puckered. “Yes, ma’am, we brew our tea.”

“Do you add the sugar while you’re brewing it or after, to make it sweet?”

The server now puckered her lips in addition to her forehead. She was beginning to look like a prune. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Shelley sighed. A long, dramatic, laden-with-irritation sigh. She spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “At what point is the sugar added to the tea—during the brewing process, or do you stir in a few teaspoons to regular brewed tea right before you serve it?”

Patricia’s confused expression remained. “Um …”

Shelley waved her hand. “Never mind. Just bring me a glass of water with lemon.”

Patricia took off as if someone had fired her from a cannon.

“You’d think they’d know how things are prepared,” Shelley groused, bending over the menu again. “Now I’m half afraid to order something to eat.”

Alexa gave Suzanne another can-you-believe-her look, but Suzanne was careful not to respond to it. She had to pray again—twice—to keep from kicking Shelley under the table when her sister launched into questions about whether the tilapia was sautéed in butter, oil, or margarine and whether the cook used instant rice in the pilaf. Suzanne secretly vowed to double Patricia’s tip. The poor girl was earning every penny.

The food was good, as Suzanne had come to expect, but the stilted conversation and Shelley’s continued critical comments about everything from the cornbread being too crumbly to the piped music being too fast paced cast a negative light over the meal.

By the time they finished eating, Suzanne had a tension headache at the back of her skull. “I know we usually browse the shop, but it’s pretty crowded in here today. So let’s just head home, okay?”

Neither Alexa nor Mother disagreed, so Suzanne set off for the front doors. Shelley grabbed her arm. “I need to use the ladies’ room before we go.” She bustled in the direction of the restrooms, leaving Alexa, Suzanne, and Mother in a little group near a display of T-shirts. Alexa held one up that said “I always wear fur thanks to my cats.”

Suzanne gave the expected chuckle and picked up another shirt, but Mother tapped her on the elbow. She set the shirt aside. “Do you need to use the ladies’ room, too?” Suzanne asked.

Mother shook her head. She quirked her finger, beckoning Suzanne to lean down. She bent over and put her ear near Mother’s mouth. Her mother’s warm breath touched her cheek as she whispered, “While she’s in the bathroom, let’s get in the car and sneak away.”

Suzanne straightened, staring at Mother in shock. She received her second surprise when she witnessed mischief dancing in Mother’s eyes and her lips twitching with a suppressed grin. Mother had just joked with her! Happiness rolled through her and emerged in a flood of laughter.

Alexa flicked a curious look across them. “What’s so funny?”

Mother repeated her comment in a stage whisper, and Alexa clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Then she, too, broke into laughter. The three of them laughed until tears rolled down their faces, but a sharp hissing voice stilled their merriment.

“What is the matter with you? People are staring!”

At Shelley’s admonishment, Suzanne looked around. Other customers were looking at them, but none seemed offended. In fact, they smiled, as if approving the display of mirth.

Mother sighed. “Stop being a stick-in-the-mud, Shelley.” She gave the grips on her wheelchair a thrust that sent the chair forward, muttering, “We waited too long.”

Suzanne bit down on the tip of her tongue to prevent another spill of laughter from escaping as she followed her stiff-lipped sister out of the restaurant. Perhaps it had been unkind to share a joke at Shelley’s expense, but the laughter had erased her headache. As she settled behind the wheel, she sent a secretive smile over the seat, and Mother winked. Winked!

Every frustration, every disappointment, every moment of embarrassment she’d suffered during the day disappeared in the space of one flick of an eyelid. In that moment, Suzanne was happy she’d come back. Happy she’d taken
Shelley along for the day. Happy. The teasing wink rekindled every pleasant memory of the mother she’d known before her fall from grace. Why Shelley’s irascibility had brought it out, Suzanne couldn’t imagine, but she was grateful for it.

She found it easy to aim a smile—a genuine smile—in her sister’s direction as she said, “Everybody ready? Okay. Let’s go home.”

Abigail

The house was quiet. Like a tomb. Abigail lay in her bed in her dark room, eyes open, staring at nothing. Although the windows were cracked to allow in the cool night air—something she did year-round because she couldn’t bear a stuffy room—her body was bathed in sweat. She gave the covers an awkward toss, and they slid halfway off the bed with the tangled sheets and light blanket draping across her knees. She wanted to kick them free, but of course she couldn’t kick. She waited for anger or bitterness to swell at her helplessness, but the old emotions refused to come. Instead she only felt sad. Lonely. Dead inside.

Today she’d laughed. Laughed so hard tears rolled. And her comment hadn’t even been that funny. It was as though years of bottled-up laughter had been waiting for an excuse to pour out, and Suzy’s wide-eyed reaction gave her permission to pop the cork. The laughter had felt so good, so cleansing, so
freeing
. Why had she denied herself the expression of merriment for so long?

She knew why. But she wasn’t ready to admit it. Not even to herself.

She deliberately turned her thoughts to Shelley, who hadn’t joined in the laughter. Who berated them for making a spectacle of themselves. Who criticized and condemned and nitpicked until Abigail wanted to screech at her in frustration. But she hadn’t. Because in her daughter’s behavior she’d been given a glimpse of herself.

Tears flowed down Abigail’s cheeks for the second time that day. She pawed at the moisture with her hands, but new torrents replaced the ones she batted away. “I’ve failed them, Lord.” The prayer rasped from her aching throat—the first nonrote prayer she’d uttered in longer than she could remember. She was almost sixty years old. Her children were grown. She couldn’t go back and try again to be understanding instead of judgmental, loving instead of unforgiving, tender instead of harsh. She saw her shortcomings now—she saw them far too clearly—but her reckoning had come too late.

Lifting her arm, she muffled her sobs with the bend of her elbow. She cried until her nightgown sleeve was soaked and even her hair was damp. She cried to the point of exhaustion. As sleep finally claimed her, one fleeting thought drifted from the recesses of her consciousness.
I can’t change yesterday, but can I change tomorrow?

Suzanne

Although she’d attended worship services each Sunday since her return to Arborville, on this last Sunday in May Suzanne finally felt relaxed. Mother’s spot was in the back corner where a shorter bench created a little space for her wheelchair. How marvelous to settle next to Mother with a sigh of contentment rather than sitting stiff and uncomfortable, worrying about what others might be thinking. Somehow others’ opinions had ceased to matter after last Thursday’s trip to Wichita and the time of laughter with her mother. Mother had accepted her, seemingly wholeheartedly, and that was all that mattered.

Mother’s change in attitude along with her dissatisfaction with either of the candidates she’d chosen to interview—funny how someone could look so wonderful on paper but fall far short in person—made Suzanne less impatient to return to Indiana. She wouldn’t have believed it possible for Mother to change. But she had, and it gave her a small flicker of hope that, perhaps, Shelley and Clete might eventually soften toward her, too.

She still intended to find a nurse for Mother. Her Indiana friends, church family, and coworkers tugged at her. Her life was there now. But Alexa’s comments about the importance of family had left an impression. If it meant being restored to a right relationship with all of her family, she was willing to stay as long as necessary to secure a nurse who would provide excellent care for her mother. And for now it was sweet bliss to sit between her mother and her daughter in the church of her childhood.

The small building became crowded as benches on both sides of the aisle filled, the men sitting on the north and the women on the south. Suzanne watched the others move to their places without exchanging any of the chitchat to which she’d grown accustomed at the church in Franklin. Although the silence had seemed cloying her first Sunday back, now it helped establish her heart for worship. Perhaps she wasn’t as separated from her Old Order roots as she’d initially thought.