LITMIR.BIZ

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or worse. “He’s Jeremiah.” Without looking at him, she added, “Jeremiah, this is my daughter, Sunni.”

      Again he fought not to ask the questions battering at his lips. The kind was unquestionably Asian, and her eyes, like Mercy’s, glistened like dark brown mud in a sun-washed puddle. She also wore plain clothing with a small print.

      Comprehension struck him. Mercy and her daughter weren’t Amish. They dressed like the Mennonite women who lived near Paradise Springs. He searched his mind, but couldn’t recall if his Realtor had mentioned anything about Rudy living plain. He glanced up at the electric light hanging from the ceiling. Some plain folks used electricity.

      Too many questions needed answers.

      Right away.

      “Hi, Sunni,” he said, because he didn’t want to upset the little girl or her mamm more.

      She aimed another frown at him before turning her back on him. When she didn’t answer him, Mercy asked the kind why she’d been upstairs. He thought she was dismayed the little girl had gone on the stairs by herself until Mercy said, “Be extra careful. Don’t forget the floors aren’t safe.”

      “I stayed away from those, Mommy.” Sunni raised her left crutch and tapped the floor beside her. “I do that to check before I go in.” Without a pause, she asked, “Can I have a cookie?”

      “One,” Mercy said with a smile. “Put the bag clip on after you get your cookie.”

      “Okaaaay,” Sunni replied in the same tone Jeremiah had used as a kind when his own mamm said something he deemed obvious.

      He smiled, but again the little girl acted as if he were invisible before she drew her arms from the cuffs on the crutches. Leaning them against the wall, she hurried through a doorway to the right. He guessed it must lead to the kitchen.

      His grin vanished as he glanced around the room. Rudy called it his everything room. Hooks on the wall showed where coats, hats and bonnets could be hung. The bare floor was scraped from years of barn boots on it, and the tattered wallpaper was a grubby white. It might once have been a brighter color. The room was furnished with a rickety table and a battered sofa covered with a worn blanket. A desk had a book under one leg to keep it steady on the sloping floor. The interior of the house was in worse condition than the outside. The photographs sent by the Realtor had been misleading.

      Had he failed to examine them closely enough in his eagerness to buy the farm and get started on making his dream come true? No, he’d peered at each picture through a magnifying glass to discover every detail. He knew the kitchen cabinets were painted dull brown, and there was electricity in the house. He planned to remove the latter as soon as the papers were signed.

      Jeremiah picked up the ladder and raised it against the wall again. Checking it was solidly in place, he looked at Mercy. He was curious why she was peeling paper off the wall in what would be his house. He could understand if she wanted to take one of the pictures of the farm hanging on a fake brick wall behind the desk, because the farm was her grossdawdi’s. In the silence, the tick-tock of a wall clock in the kitchen was loud.

      Jeremiah appraised the room again. He intended to use it for the farm’s office, as he guessed Rudy had. It was one plan among the many he had. His brothers teased him about having to have every detail set in place before he acted, but trying to find knots in a piece of wood before he began working on it had kept him from wasting time when building a piece of furniture. Being as cautious in his other endeavors seemed wise.

      Though he knew, too well, the best of plans could fall apart. He’d thought his future was set with Emmarita Kramer, but she’d jumped the fence and married an Englisch guy she’d met at an auction Jeremiah had taken her to. She never broke the courtship off with Jeremiah, just left. He should forgive her and forget his shock, but when he hadn’t been able to do either, he’d decided on a clean start in the new Harmony Creek settlement.

      Hearing a throat cleared and knowing Mercy was trying to get his attention, he turned. She was shorter than he’d realized. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. As she stuck several vagrant strands of black hair beneath her pleated kapp, she regarded him coolly. She was, he could tell from the set of her taut lips, as curious about him as her daughter had been.

      He had a lot of things he wanted to ask her, too, but he waited for her to speak first.

      She took one step, then another toward him, though she was at a disadvantage because she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. Then, seeing the determination in them, he wondered if she saw her height as a liability or a way to surprise those who underestimated her.

      “You never answered my question,” she said.

      “Which one?” He couldn’t remember what she’d asked him, and he refused to be put on the defensive in what would be his own home.

      “The important one. What are you doing here?”

      “I came to see Rudy Bamberger.” He frowned. “You said he’s your grossdawdi.”

      She nodded.

      “Then I’m surprised he didn’t tell you I’d be coming here today.”

      “Why?”

      He didn’t think she was being cagey on purpose. Until now, she’d been straightforward. “He invited me to come and look around.”

      She shook her head. “I don’t understand why.”

      “Didn’t he tell you he’s selling me his farm?”

      * * *

      Mercy Bamberger was shocked speechless. Had she hit her head when she’d dropped into Jeremiah Stoltzfus’s strong arms after trying to grab another strip of wallpaper? She’d made a mess of this conversation from the get-go.

      With the ancient Adirondacks to the west and the gentle Green Mountains to the east, the farm had been a haven for her from the first time she’d come to visit the man she called Grandpa Rudy. It offered the very thing she’d lost and didn’t think she’d ever find again. Home. How desperate she’d been for a sanctuary! And how precious it seemed as the promise she’d held within her heart for the past decade was being fulfilled.

      She couldn’t mess it up. Already she’d made the mistake of not keeping a closer eye on Sunni. Her daughter had been born with a congenital curiosity not diminished by her physical challenges. Mercy’s determination that the little girl should do anything a regular kid could allowed Sunni to indulge her quick and inquiring mind. Telling Sunni not to investigate the rooms upstairs because the floors were unsafe must have convinced her to find out how dangerous they were.

      Mercy was letting herself get distracted by a handsome stranger who appeared to be a few years older than her twenty-five years. His bright blue eyes that had been shadowed by his black wool hat identified him as one of the Amish farmers moving into the hollow. Grandpa Rudy had told her about the new settlement in one of his letters. He’d been writing to her every week since she was eleven years old, the year she’d been adopted by his son and daughter-in-law and given a chance to have a new life and the loving family she’d feared she’d never have again.

      She was startled how far up she had to look to meet Jeremiah’s eyes. Few Amish men she’d met had been as tall as he was. If his ruddy hair hadn’t been cut in the plain style and he wasn’t wearing a simple light blue shirt along with black suspenders and broadfall trousers beneath his black coat, she wouldn’t have guessed this very good-looking man was Amish.

      Scolding herself, she recalled how Graham Rapp was easy on the eyes, too, but he’d broken her heart by showing how much a “mama’s boy” he was by choosing his mother when Mercy refused to be second. She must not let herself be beguiled by an attractive man again. Not when so much was on the line with her plans for the farm and the changes it could make in many young lives.

      But the Amish were well-known for their honesty. So why was Jeremiah talking nonsense about Grandpa Rudy selling him the farm?

      “I think

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