An Amish Arrangement Read online

  Again, Jeremiah laughed, but Mercy could see how deeply touched he was by the child’s desire to be connected to him. Her eyes were awash in tears she didn’t want to let fall because the boy might think she was upset.

  “So tell us your name!” Sunni leaned toward him, excited.

  “I want to be Paul.” He looked at Jeremiah. “I remember hearing you say the day I arrived Paul was your dad’s name. That’s right, ain’t so? And, if I’m Paul, you won’t get confused when Mercy’s talking to us.”

  When Jeremiah nodded, Mercy realized he was so overcome with emotion he was unable to speak. Not only was the boy picking up his way of speaking, but Parker had also chosen a name that meant so much to Jeremiah.

  Clearing his throat, Jeremiah said, “You’re right. Paul was my daed’s name, and I think he would have been happy to share it with you.”

  “All right. Call me Paul.” Without a pause, he asked what was for lunch.

  “Would you like to stop somewhere to eat?” Mercy was no longer surprised by Parker’s— No, she needed to remember to call him Paul and let Whitney know about the change once she was sure the boy wouldn’t pick a different name tomorrow. She was not surprised by Paul’s focus on his next meal. The boy seemed endlessly hungry. “There’s a nice diner between here and the farm. Grandpa Rudy used to take me there once or twice each summer when I visited him. You’ll get so much to eat you’ll feel like a stuffed turkey at Thanksgiving.”

  That brought cheers of excitement from the back seat. When she glanced at Jeremiah, he smiled.

  “How could I say no when I’m outnumbered?” he asked with a chuckle.

  She backed the car out, determined to enjoy the day and the company the Lord had given her.

  * * *

  Jeremiah wasn’t surprised when Mercy walked beside him as the kinder raced toward the diner’s door.

  Slanting her head toward him, she murmured, “You do realize the importance of the name he picked, right? It’s his way of telling you he wants to be a family with you.”

  “It’s pretty overwhelming.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” She squeezed his arm and smiled. “You’ve worked wonders with him, and he knows that, though he can’t—or won’t—say it. Are you truly okay with him using your father’s name?”

  He nodded, and unabashed tears gleamed in his eyes. “My daed used to say that he wanted a dozen kinder. He and Mamm were blessed with the nine of us, but it feels now as if he’s one more kid closer to his goal.”

  When she gave him a lovely smile, he wasn’t sure how the day could get better. He thought about taking her hand, but they’d reached the door where Sunni and Paul were waiting impatiently. He opened the door and ushered them inside.

  The diner was long and narrow. A single line of booths edged the windows overlooking the parking lot. Cutting the building down the middle was a curved counter. The stools were repaired with black electrical tape. However, everything was sparkling clean.

  When Mercy led the way to the booth she called her favorite, he followed the kinder. He couldn’t fail to notice the glances in their directions. They were the only plain folk in the diner.

  A waitress in a simple white shirt and black pants beneath her red-checkered apron took their orders. Fortunately, the menu for kinder was limited, so Sunni and Paul selected quickly. Chicken nuggets for Sunni and spaghetti for Paul. After checking that none of the boy’s allergies would be triggered by what he’d ordered, Mercy asked for an open-faced hot turkey sandwich. Glad the others had ordered first, Jeremiah debated between two favorites and settled on chicken Parmesan.

  The servings were as huge as Mercy recalled and as delicious. The children wasted no time cleaning their plates, their eyes continuously shifting toward the pie trolley on top of the gray counter.

  When the waitress came to remove their plates, she asked if they wanted dessert. The enthusiastic response came from Jeremiah as well as the children.

  The waitress smiled. “Just so you know, we get our pies from an Amish woman.”

  “Do you have snitz pie?” he asked.

  “We do.”

  “Then two adult-size servings and two kid-size ones. Two cups of kaffi—coffee—and two glasses of milk.”

  “Chocolate?” interjected Paul.

  She nodded. “Chocolate it’ll be.”

  As she walked away, Sunni asked, “What is snitz?”

  “Wait and see.” He winked at Mercy as the kids wiggled with anticipation.

  The waitress returned with their drinks before going to the counter to cut four slices of pie. She smiled as she set the plates on the table.

  Paul wrinkled his nose as he looked at the dark brown filling in his serving. “What is it?”

  “Is it chocolate?” asked Sunni, peering at her slice from every direction.

  “It’s snitz pie.” Jeremiah grinned. “If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it.” He held out his hand. “I never pass up a piece of snitz pie, especially my mamm’s. Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you Wanda Lapp makes the best snitz pie in Lancaster County. Maybe the whole world.”

  “Why isn’t her name Wanda Stoltzfus?” asked Sunni, ever the one to try to nail down every detail.

  “Because she got remarried after my daed died.”

  “My father is dead, too.” The little girl’s lower lip began to tremble. “And my mommy.” Her gaze darted to Mercy. “Not this mommy, my before mommy.”

  “My whole family is dead,” stated Paul, not to be outdone. As he began to tell an outrageous tale that sounded as if it’d come from a television show too violent for a child his age, he must have seen the adults weren’t buying his story. “It’s true!”

  “But it’s not gut conversation for the dinner table.” Jeremiah caught the boy’s eyes and tilted his head toward where Mercy and Sunni sat. “The ladies, you know. They don’t like rough talk like cowmen use. That’s very important, ain’t so?”

  Mercy picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip so the boy didn’t see her lips twitching with a smile. When Paul agreed with Jeremiah, she guessed the child had no idea what Jeremiah meant, but he wasn’t going to let anyone see that.

  “But what is it?” persisted Paul.

  Mercy decided Jeremiah had teased the children long enough. “Apple pie.”

  Paul shook his head. “It looks strange.”

  “Because it’s made with dried apples.” She looked at the boy, who was clearly torn between standing firm so he didn’t look as if he was giving in to her and his obvious longing to give in to the temptation to try the pie.

  “It tastes like apple butter.”

  “Yummy!” announced Sunni and dove into her dessert.

  Not to be outdone, Paul broke off the tiniest piece with his fork and stared at it. “It’s polite to eat what’s put in front of me,” he said, obviously repeating something he’d heard at his previous home.

  Mercy exchanged a glance with Jeremiah as she wondered how many times Paul’s prospective mother had uttered those words. Her sorrow at what the boy had experienced vanished when Paul’s eyes lit up as he tasted the pie.

  “Can we have seconds?” he asked as he jabbed his fork into the pie for another bite.

  They laughed, and Mercy savored the chance to look at each of them as they all smiled at the same time. It hadn’t happened often. She hoped it would more often from this point forward.

  * * *

  “Mommy! Stop! Now!”

  When Sunni screamed, Mercy looked in the rearview mirror and saw her daughter’s terror. They’d just driven out of the diner’s parking lot.

  Jeremiah swung around. “Mercy, pull over!”

  She twisted the wheel. The car behind her honked in annoyance, but she ignored it as she jammed the shifting lever into Park. As their car rocked to an abrupt stop, she jumped out at the same time Jeremia
h did.

  He tore open the door on his side and leaned over Paul, who was straining to breathe. The boy’s lips were already turning blue, and his face was swollen with hives.

  Grabbing her purse, she pulled out the epinephrine injector she’d been carrying since Paul joined their family. She ran around the car, pushed Jeremiah aside and flipped the top off the injector. She gripped it tightly before grabbing the fleshy part of the boy’s thigh. She pressed the injector against his pants. Hearing a click, she counted off ten seconds.

  “We passed an urgent care just before we pulled into the diner,” Jeremiah said.

  “Can you drive a car?”

  He nodded. “But I haven’t in a while.”

  “Get in and drive.” She climbed between the two children, keeping her eyes on the wheezing boy. “Go!”

  Jeremiah jumped behind the wheel and jammed the shift into Drive. They were thrown back against the seats as the tires squealed when he rammed the gas pedal to the floor.

  “You’re going to be okay,” she said as she brushed Paul’s bangs from his brow that was covered with cold sweat.

  She heard Jeremiah praying and added her own prayers that they’d reach the urgent care quickly and—as another car blared its horn at them—without an accident.

  * * *

  Hours later, when Mercy sat across from Jeremiah at the kitchen table having a calming cup of tea while he drank coffee, she strained her ears to listen for footsteps upstairs. The children had been worn out by the day’s exciting events.

  “A single piece of candy with a single peanut in it.” Mercy shook her head. “He didn’t realize he’d grabbed one with a peanut from the bowl by the cash register. Not until it was in his mouth.”

  “But he’s all right.”

  “I’d like to say my nerves are all right, too.”

  Jeremiah laughed quietly. “Maybe yours are. I think mine will calm down in a month or so. You were wunderbaar, Mercy. You didn’t stop to think. You did what you had to do.”

  “You would have done the same.”

  “I’d like to think so, but I was shocked when his condition was getting more dire by the second.”

  Letting her shoulders sag and wincing at the ache from holding them taut for so long, she said, “Thank God it turned out all right.”

  “Ja, we must most definitely thank God. He was with us, protecting us.”

  “Especially when you were driving.” She allowed herself a smile. “I didn’t realize your previous driving experience was as a race driver.”

  Again, he chuckled. “Just so you know, I was praying as fast as I was driving.” He sipped his coffee. His hands remained unsteady.

  Just like hers. Thank You, God, for watching over Paul today and guiding us to get help for him.

  “I hope you enjoyed the Mennonite service,” Mercy said, needing to talk about something other than Paul’s close brush with death.

  “It was interesting. Like an Amish one, but yet not like it.” He gave her a weary smile. “And I don’t mean just the pace of the singing.”

  “If you’d like to come with us again, you’re welcome.” Wishing she could come out and ask him what she really wanted to know—would he ever consider becoming a Mennonite?—she couldn’t. If he said no, then that ended any hopes for them to have a future together.

  You’re getting ahead of yourself, her conscience whispered. He hasn’t said anything about the future other than his plans for the farm. Can’t you see what comes first?

  Pain twisted in her stomach. Jeremiah had been honest about the fact his dreams were his number one priority. If Graham had been so forthcoming, it would have saved them a lot of hurt.

  “Danki,” he replied, “but I may be doing some traveling.”

  “Really?”

  “Caleb mentioned that he may need me to help him find other families for the settlement.” He didn’t add more, but she understood what he wasn’t saying. If it wasn’t God’s will for him to have the farm, recruiting others to come to the Harmony Creek settlement might be the best way for him to help it thrive.

  “When would you be leaving?”

  “Most likely soon. Once spring comes, there won’t be time for anything but fieldwork and chores.” He gave her a weak smile. “Caleb suggested I go to central New York. Actually not far from where your family lives.”

  “You should stop in and see them if you do.”

  His brows lowered. “You don’t think I’d try to influence them into selling me the farm?”

  “I thought we weren’t going to look for hidden motives.” She didn’t say the words harshly, because the thought had slipped through her mind, as well. “My parents would be glad to offer you a place to stay because you’re my friend.”

  Did she see him flinch at friend? Or was she hoping he had? Could he feel about her as she did about him?

  Her hopes he might faded when he asked, “Would there be anyone else you’d like me to take a message to? Did you leave someone special behind in central New York?”

  She snorted. “How many men do you know who’d be willing to date a woman with a child, especially one with special medical needs? I could count them on the number of hairs on a bald man’s head!”

  “My brother Daniel married his wife, who was responsible for a kind with Down syndrome and her grossmammi Ella, who has Alzheimer’s.”

  “Maybe so, but he’s one of a kind.”

  He folded his arms on the table and shook his head. “Actually not. When my brothers—and sisters—have fallen in love, they haven’t cared about the complications of kinder. Our family has grown very quickly in the past couple of years with additions, bopplin and older kids.”

  “Then your whole family is one of a kind. Most men I’ve met head in the other direction once they find out I have a child.”

  “Two.”

  “But for how long?” She raised her eyes toward the ceiling where the children should be asleep.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How long will Paul be here? There are so many reasons he could leave, some having to do with the social services. Others to...”

  When her voice faded, he put his hand over her fingers on the table. “Others having to do with who ends up owning the farm? Is that what you were going to say?”

  “I’m sorry, Jeremiah.” She gazed at his hand on hers, confused. On one hand, she thrilled in his touch. On the other, she struggled to trust him. She knew he wasn’t Graham, but her heart bore the scars of that betrayal.

  “Mercy, you must realize if your family decides to sell me the farm, I’m not planning on throwing you and the kids out ten seconds later.”

  “I know, but you’ve got your plans for the farm.” She slid her hand out from beneath his. Thinking clearly when his rough palm burnished her fingers was impossible.

  Standing, she went to where she could look at the first stars poking through the crisp winter night. When Jeremiah moved behind her, he didn’t touch her, but she was as much aware of his breathing as hers. In the silence she could hear his heartbeat matching her own. If she leaned back, even an inch, her head would be against him.

  “Mercy, will you look at me?” His voice was no more than a whisper, but she could hear sorrow in it. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Facing him, she stared at the top button on his shirt. Meeting his gaze when she was so unsettled might be foolish.

  “Why is it taking so long?” Not giving him a chance to answer, she added, “You’ve got to be asking that yourself.”

  “Some people need time to make an important decision. My family teases me because sometimes I’m the last one to make up my mind, but I’ve got to look at the decision from every angle so I know I’ve made the right one.”

  In spite of herself, she raised her eyes toward his. “Did it take you a long time to decide
to buy this farm?”

  “It took me a long time to realize I was happier farming than doing anything else. I immediately started looking for a gut place to go because I knew there weren’t any farms I could afford near Paradise Springs. I wasn’t sure where I’d go until Caleb talked to me about Harmony Creek. Coming here seemed the perfect answer.”

  “Until you got here and found us.”

  He arched his brows, and she saw a hint of his smile before it swiftly vanished. “I don’t blame you.”

  “You should, you know.”

  “No, I shouldn’t. For a reason neither of us can guess, God brought us together like this. He knows the future. We can’t do anything but believe His reasons are for our gut, and if we continue forward toward what He has planned for us, we’ll know His blessings.”

  “So we wait.”

  He shrugged, and his smile reappeared. “I don’t see any alternative.”

  “I know.” She clasped her hands behind her so she didn’t reach out to throw her arms around him and beg him to hold her. “And every day we don’t hear is another day Paul can stay here.” She allowed herself a faint grin. “Not that any day is easy with him.”

  “Eventually, he’ll realize what a blessing you and Sunni are for him.” He went toward the door.

  Had her face betrayed her longing to be in his arms? “And you. He wants your respect more than anything else now.”

  “Learning to respect you and Sunni would go a long way toward earning that.”

  “But he’d have to share you with us, and he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to.”

  He sighed and pulled his coat off the peg by the door. “He’s a confused kind.”

  “I agree.”

  “So what can I do to help?” He reached for his scarf.

  “Keep doing whatever you’ve been doing. I can see so many changes in him when he’s with you. He listens to you.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Which is a lot more than he listens to me. I know he craves action. That’s one of the reasons he likes doing chores with you. Painting doesn’t interest him.”