her on the bottom step, he picked up his hat as he asked, “Are you all right?”
“I am.”
He didn’t believe her, because her skin had a gray tint and her voice quivered. He wouldn’t push her, because he guessed she was embarrassed by the circumstances. But one question remained: What was Mercy Bamberger doing in his house?
“Bamberger?” he asked aloud. “Like Rudy Bamberger?”
“Yes. Do you know my grandfather?”
Well, that explained who she was and why she was in the house. Glancing up the stairs, his eyes widened when he saw a shadow slip across the top. It was far too small for a grown man and appeared to have four legs.
He watched, saying nothing as he realized the silhouette belonged to a kind. A little girl, who looked about seven years old, had braided hair as black as Mercy’s. She leaned on metal crutches with cuffs to go around her skinny arms. Her legs were encased in plastic and Velcro from the tops of her black sneakers to her knobby knees. Who was she?
As if he’d asked the question aloud, the little girl cried, “Mommy!” Rushing at a pace that forced his heart into his throat again, because he feared she’d fall, the kind flung her arms around Mercy’s neck. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Mercy reassured her.
The kind glanced at him with a scowl. “I heard the ladder fall and—”
“I’m fine, Sunni.” She hugged the little girl. “Jeremiah kept me from getting hurt.”
“Who?”
“Jeremiah.” Mercy pushed herself to her feet and swung the little girl off the steps. She kept herself between the kind and him, showing she didn’t trust him though he’d saved her from a broken bone 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
