Mercy made certain the ladder was secure against the wall before she tore off the final pieces of hideous wallpaper after lunch later that week. She was glad to toss aside the tea rose pattern and watch it flit onto the pile of scraps she’d made. If she’d had to look at the ugly wallpaper much longer, she would have had nightmares about the disgusting pink roses for a full week.
She laughed as she climbed off the ladder. Once she swept up the strips, she’d never have to see it again.
Pausing as she stepped onto the smooth wood floors, she imagined how the walls would look with a fresh coat of paint. The dark woodwork would complement it. With the variety of oak furniture in the room and forest green tiles edging the fireplace opening, the room would look inviting. She wasn’t sure why her grandfather hadn’t changed it years ago.
Her feeling of accomplishment faded. Was it silly to do all this work? If the farm wasn’t going to be hers, she was wasting her time redoing the house to make it a home for her and Sunni.
She wasn’t going to sit around and wait to hear from Dad. If they agreed to let her somehow buy the farm, she’d regret the time lost. She’d already sent a copy of the approval she’d gotten as a foster parent before Sunni was placed with her as well as other forms to county and state offices to begin the approval process for turning the farm into a summer camp for underprivileged city children.
Though it was difficult to think about warm weather when it was snowing—again!—and drifts were rising over the bottom of the porch railing. It was getting so deep Sunni didn’t want to go outside. And it was cold! Even with a full tank of fuel oil, the house couldn’t shake its chill. No wonder Sunni had made a tent out of blankets in the dining room to give herself a warm cocoon where she could read and color.
Chafing her cold hands, Mercy decided to do something to keep her warm, too. Not sweeping up the damp wallpaper strips. She’d turn her attention to finding the will Grandpa Rudy must have left somewhere in the house.
Two hours later she was running out of places to look on the first floor. She’d gone through the stacks of papers, mail and unread newspapers on her grandfather’s desk. She’d checked every cubbyhole and drawer, including the “secret” one he’d shown her when she turned thirteen. He kept nothing in it more secret than his stash of root beer candies.
She resisted stopping to read the papers her grandfather had kept. Later...
Going to the back stairs she preferred rather than the grander front staircase, Mercy went up. The floors over the kitchen were sturdier than at the other end of the house.
Where should she begin? Where would Grandpa Rudy have put such an important document?
Mercy gnawed on her lower lip as she looked along the upper hallway. He’d told her so often that he’d made a will. Or that he was going to. If he had, wouldn’t he have kept a copy somewhere in the house?
Both attorneys in nearby Salem had told her that they hadn’t helped him draft a will. Why would Grandpa Rudy have been so specific about leaving her instructions on what to do after his death if he hadn’t left a will somewhere? Maybe he hadn’t gotten around to putting his thoughts on paper.
No, she didn’t want to believe that.
Had Grandpa Rudy taken his business elsewhere? He liked to travel throughout the county as well as in the nearby hills of Vermont. His old truck had a half million miles on the odometer, proof he had friends far and wide throughout the area. Should she contact other law offices in the area?
The idea gave her a headache, because it probably would be a waste of time. Not that she didn’t have time to waste. Talking to her parents last night had been as discouraging as the search for the will. Her father’s siblings disagreed about what to do with the farm.
“There’s no hurry,” Dad had said. “Let them take the time they need to consider everything. Rushing them will annoy everyone, and making such an important decision hastily is sure to give us a reason to be sorry later.”
Mercy wasn’t sure if her parents were among the ones who would be irked if she pressed for an answer. She’d gently reminded them how vital it was to start the licensing procedures for the farm before she could open it to children. When her mother had expressed surprise, saying she thought Mercy’s foster care license would suffice, Mercy bit back her irritation. Several times before she’d left, she’d outlined for her parents what she needed to do in preparation to make Come Along Farm possible.
“I keep my important papers in my room,” Mercy said aloud, smothered by the silence. “Maybe Grandpa Rudy did, too.”
Pushing on the door she hadn’t opened since the funeral, she started to step into her grandfather’s room, then froze in the doorway. Everything about the room was a reminder of him. At the foot of the bed was the bright red-and-green afghan he’d made when he decided learning to crochet would keep his mind sharp. Two more afghans, one black-and-white and the other a gaudy yellow, were draped over an upholstered chair whose springs were gone. The seat dropped to the floor.
A low, long dresser between the room’s two windows was covered with photographs. When she’d first come to the farm, the pictures had been on a table downstairs. She’d pestered Grandpa Rudy to identify each person and tell her how they were related to her until on one visit, she discovered he’d moved them upstairs. Though he’d never complained, she guessed he’d gotten tired of sharing the same stories over and over.
She stepped back. She couldn’t go in and touch his things. Not yet. Not when the pain of losing him was so fresh.
Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she would come back if she hadn’t found a will in the house. In the meantime she could look in the other rooms where the floors were solid. Perhaps up in the attic, though she shuddered at the idea of the spiderwebs in the stairwell.
“Knock, knock,” came a shout from the first floor.
Even with the voice distorted by the narrow staircase, she couldn’t mistake it for another or ignore how her heart began to beat a bit faster.
Jeremiah!
Since the breakfast they’d shared the day the heat went out, she’d seen him at a distance and waved when he noticed her outside. He hadn’t come to the house, though she’d heard the sound of hammering, and she guessed he was doing work on the tenant house.
Hurrying down the stairs, Mercy caught sight of Sunni slipping into the kitchen. Jeremiah either hadn’t noticed her or was pretending he hadn’t.
Jeremiah had taken off his black felt hat, leaving his reddish-brown hair tousled. Her fingers tingled at the thought of brushing those strands into place.
He turned to her, and her breath caught. The cold wind had burnished his face, emphasizing the strong planes that realigned when he gave her a cautious smile.
Regret slashed her. In other circumstances she and Jeremiah might have become friends, but the future of the farm remained a chasm between them. She had no idea how to cross it.
And is being friends all you aspire to become with him?
She paid no attention to the soft voice from deep within her. Instantly, she wondered if doing that was a mistake, because she hadn’t heeded what it whispered when she was seeing Graham. Maybe if she’d listened then...
Jeremiah spoke, freeing her from her uneasy thoughts. “I wanted to let you know, Mercy, I’ve got some cattle being delivered in a couple of days.”
“Cows? Here? Now?”
His face became grave. “You don’t have to remind me, Mercy, how foolish I was to make these plans before the farm was officially mine. If your family decides not to sell to me, I’ll have the animals removed and sold. I wanted you to know so you weren’t surprised when the livestock truck backs up the drive.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you letting me know.” She hated how they spoke as polite strangers who intended to remain that.
“I didn’t want you to think I was going behind your back.”
“That never crossed my mind,” she said, bowled over by his words. She’d met very few Amish people, but the ones she’d met lived a life of faith and truth.
“Gut.” His smile returned. “We’ve got to stop thinking the other one believes we have ulterior motives for everything we do or say.”
“How do we do that?”
“By accepting whatever happens with the farm is God’s will.”
Mercy couldn’t return his easy grin. God’s will? Had it been God’s will that her first placement had been disrupted by jealousy? Why would God allow her to fall for Graham so he could make her feel as if she was a second choice?
“Are you okay?” Jeremiah asked, his ruddy brows lowering.
“Fine. Or as fine as I can be, under the circumstances.” That was the truth, and she wasn’t going to spill why she couldn’t accept God’s will as easily as Jeremiah seemed to.
He scanned her face, puzzled and looking for answers. She wasn’t going to share the details of her time in foster care when it’d seemed as if God had abandoned her. She’d told Graham about that, and he’d been shocked at first. Later, he’d acted as if her failed adoption was somehow all her fault.
Only much later had she realized he was repeating exactly what his mother had said. The woman had always been quick to point out what she saw as Mercy’s shortcomings. Everything that went wrong, even rain on a day when they’d planned to go to an outdoor concert, was, in his mother’s eyes, Mercy’s fault. It made no sense, but Mercy would have endured it if Graham had—just once—stood up for her.
He hadn’t.
Not once. He quickly agreed with Mrs. Rapp, no matter how ridiculous the older woman’s opinions were.
If Graham had been willing to get out from under his mother’s thumb, Mercy might not have rushed to Harmony Creek before she realized Grandpa Rudy had put the farm up for sale.
Her best friend, Erika, had warned Mercy to consider Graham’s proposal very, very carefully before agreeing. “If it’s a choice between what his mother wants and what you want,” Erika had told her more than once, “you’re going to lose every time.”
“But I love him,” Mercy had argued, “and he loves me.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but he’ll always side with his mother. Be careful.”
She hadn’t been. She’d given her heart totally, believing if she loved Graham enough, he’d change.
He hadn’t. When the tough decision had to be made of where they’d live, he’d listened to Mrs. Rapp instead of doing what was best for his future wife and stepdaughter. His assumption Mercy was wrong for not understanding his mother’s needs were most important hammered the final nail in their relationship’s coffin, killing hopes she’d had of a future with him.
He hadn’t come to say goodbye after she’d left a message on his phone that she and Sunni were moving to Harmony Creek. He’d never returned her call, making her feel like a fool.
One thing she knew for certain. She wasn’t going to be a fool for a man ever again, no matter how handsome or nice he was.
* * *
Jeremiah couldn’t help being curious what Mercy was thinking. Her face was clouded with strong emotions, which he hoped had nothing to do with the arrival of the cows he’d planned to be the beginning of the farm’s dairy herd. Every instinct urged him to ask her how he could help. Even more, he yearned to pull her into his arms and offer her comfort for whatever was hurting her.
He couldn’t do either.
Not letting the frustrated sigh sift past his lips, he waited for Mercy to say something.
When she did, he wasn’t surprised it was a lame excuse to end their conversation. His frown returned when she mentioned going into Salem to pick up groceries.
“The roads aren’t plowed yet,” he said.
“Oh.”
Her face was so dejected he hurried to say, “You could take the sleigh.”
“Sleigh?”
He nodded. “There’s one in the big barn. It’s half-hidden under a blanket, but other than being covered with dust, it looks in gut condition. The runners may have some rust. If they do, I can sand it off, and you’ll be on your way as soon as we hook up Hero to the sleigh.”
“Your horse’s name is Hero? Isn’t that an odd name for an Amish horse?”
“It’s the name he had when I bought him, and he’s been my hero more than once when he got me home during a storm.” He grinned. “He’s very even-tempered, so you shouldn’t have any problem with him.”
She backed away slowly. “Thanks, but I’ll make up something out of whatever is in the kitchen.”
He was baffled again, but comprehension burst through him like a shooting star on a summer evening. “You don’t know how to drive a horse, ain’t so?”
“I never have.” She glanced out the window toward where her car sat beneath deep snow. “I’ve been able to depend on my car to get me where I need to go.”
“But you want to live on a farm with horses.”
“For the children to ride.”
Spying her daughter, who was peeking through the kitchen doorway, clearly eavesdropping, he acted as if he hadn’t seen the kind. He didn’t want to send her scurrying away again. “Wouldn’t those kinder enjoy rides in a wagon, too?”
She folded her arms but laughed. “Jeremiah Stoltzfus, has anyone ever told you that once you get an idea in your head you hold on to it like a snapping turtle?”
“I’d like to think I have more sense than a turtle that won’t let go even to eat.” He hooked a thumb toward the door. “Might as well get started with your lessons.”
“Not now.”
“Why not? I’ve got the time, and today isn’t going to be the only day you’ll need the sleigh before the snow melts.”
Again, she paused. Was she looking for an excuse he’d have to accept?
He realized how much he’d misconstrued her silence when she said, “I can’t go outside to take driving lessons and leave Sunni alone in the house.”
“Bring her along. I’ll teach her, too.”
“She’s only seven years old.”
With a laugh, he said, “I was younger than she is the first time the reins were placed in my hands.” He looked straight at Sunni. “Do you want to try?” He cut his eyes to Mercy. “What do you say?”
He wasn’t sure if he or Mercy was more shocked when Sunni stepped into the room and asked, “Can we, Mommy?”