the cellar door. “It’s down there. I’m hoping it’s something simple.”
“Something simple is about the extent of my skills at fixing furnaces.” He gave her a grin. “Just in case, do you have the name of the person who did furnace servicing for Rudy? It’s probably the same company that delivers oil.”
“I probably can find it. He kept that sort of stuff in his desk.” As coffee finished dripping into the clear pot, she asked, “Do you want a cup?”
“I’ll have one when I’m done.” Without another word, he went to the cellar door and opened it. His work boots, which were as battered as his gloves, thumped on each step.
Mercy heard Jeremiah pull on the chain to the bare bulb near the furnace. Hurrying into the room with Grandpa Rudy’s desk, she grabbed a black shawl from a peg. She threw it over her shoulders, holding it close with fingers as clumsy as a collection of icicles.
The desk was heaped with papers and envelopes her grandfather must have tossed there in the days before he died. For a moment Mercy had to blink back tears. Throughout the mess of the past days, one thing hadn’t changed. She missed Grandpa Rudy, the very person she wanted to turn to now.
Mercy found a receipt from the oil company and was relieved to see it had an emergency service number at the top. Putting it in the pocket of her black apron, she hurried into the kitchen to be ready to call the oil company if Jeremiah couldn’t fix the furnace.
She paused when she heard uneven steps on the stairs to the second floor. Sunni was coming down the stairs without her crutches. Mercy frowned. Her daughter had promised to use them on the stairs. Worse, the little girl had wrapped herself in a blanket that threatened to trip her.
“Sunni, you need to be careful,” she chided gently.
“I was afraid of turning into an ice cube if I waited a second longer,” the little girl said. “Why’s it so cold, Mommy?”
“Something’s wrong with the heat.”
Before Mercy could say more, assertive footsteps came from the cellar steps. She turned to see Jeremiah in the doorway.
Sunni mumbled something under her breath and scowled at Jeremiah.
His gaze followed Sunni when her daughter walked into the living room, her pose beneath the blanket one of disdain. He arched his brows at Mercy.
“Were you able to see what’s wrong with the furnace?” Mercy asked.
“Nothing’s wrong with it.” He wiped his hands on a filthy cloth he must have found in the cellar. “Your fuel oil tank is empty.”
“But I checked the tank before I called you. The gauge said it was half-full.”
“The gauge is broken. The tank is completely dry.”
“I never considered the gauge might be wrong.”
“No reason you should.”
“You did.” She pushed away from the stairs and flinched when the door gave a threatening creak. One disaster at a time. Reaching under her shawl, she pulled the receipt out of her pocket. “I’ll call the oil company’s emergency number and see if they can deliver some oil.”
He glanced out the window. “They won’t be able to get in until the road is plowed.”
As if on cue, the rumble of a big truck could be heard coming toward the house. She saw the huge wing of the plow as it pushed snow in large, thick chunks into the yard. She shuddered, thinking of the heavy work of clearing the driveway. Her car was stored in the rickety garage, and the old-style door opened straight out, so she was going to have to clear a large area there, too.
Mercy made the call to the oil company, who assured her they’d be there before nightfall. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one needing service on the cold day.
“You can’t stay here with Sunni,” Jeremiah said after she hung up. “The house is going to get colder and colder. The tenant house is a bit better, but you’ll get so chilled going over there, it probably won’t make much difference. Isn’t there a fireplace in the living room?”
“Yes.”
“Did Rudy use it?”
When she nodded and Jeremiah offered to start a fire, she was relieved. She found a box of matches in the kitchen junk drawer and followed him into the living room, where he checked the fireplace, looking up at the top of the firebox where the damper opened into the chimney. He drew back, wiping soot from his trousers.
While Sunni watched from the couch, as silent as she was whenever Jeremiah was near, he quickly arranged slabs of wood in the fireplace. Mercy handed him the matches and went to sit with her daughter.
He struck one match and held it to the small bits of paper he’d stuck among the wood. Small flames rose, and Mercy resisted the yearning to hold out her half-frozen hands, knowing there wouldn’t be much heat yet. She needed to wait until the fire caught on the dried wood.
Suddenly, Jeremiah jumped to his feet and staggered. Thick smoke chased him toward the middle of the room.
“Get out!” he yelled.
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