An Amish Arrangement

“I’ve got something tonight I can’t get out of,” Kitty said. “How about I come over tomorrow afternoon?”

“Tomorrow afternoon should be fine.” What else could he say?

“Good. I’ll meet you at the farm around one.”

He thanked her. Tilting the phone toward the faint light coming through the window, he found the button to end the call. He set it in its holder. It chirped once, and then its glow faded.

“That was my Realtor,” Jeremiah said. “She’s coming over tomorrow afternoon around one to discuss what happens next.”

A soft click sounded in the room before a lamp came on by the side of a bed with a headboard taller than he was. It was carved with a great tree filled with birds and other beasts gathered below it. He realized the lamp must have been connected to a timer.

“I can make myself scarce,” Mercy replied.

He shook his head. “Don’t. You should be here so you can ask Kitty your questions. In fact, you should contact the Realtor your grossdawdi used and have him here.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

“His name is on the paperwork I signed. Why don’t I get it? It might have his phone number. You can call him and get him here, too.”

She rubbed her hands together. “Thank you, Jeremiah. You’re being nice about this.”

“Me? You didn’t throw me out on my ear when I barged in.”

When she smiled, it was as if another dozen lights had turned on. “I couldn’t throw you out after you saved me from my own foolishness.”

The pleasant warmth buzzed through him again as his gaze connected with hers. He looked away. Until he knew what was going to happen with the farm, he needed to keep his distance.

Turning on his heel, he went to where he’d left his bags. He’d get the information she needed and then...

And then what?

Tell her he’d planned to stay here tonight? He couldn’t insist Mercy and her little girl find another place tonight. He wasn’t sure what, under the circumstances, would happen if he left the property before the disposition of the farm was decided. Possession being nine-tenths of the law...or something like that.

He paused as he saw an overhead photo of the farm. His gaze riveted on the tenant house. It was the answer to tonight’s impasse.

Digging among the stack of legal forms, he found the purchase agreement. He paged through it to find Rudy’s Realtor’s name and contact information. There! He pulled a pencil out of his pocket along with the small notebook that he kept handy to take notes when someone ordered a piece of furniture. Though he planned to concentrate on farming, he knew he’d be doing woodworking on the side until he could get his first crop harvested. His hand tools and small power tools were on their way to Harmony Creek. As he wrote the name and number of Rudy’s Realtor, he hoped he wouldn’t have to ship those heavy crates back unopened.

He handed the information to Mercy, who nodded her thanks. Returning the papers in the envelope, he dropped it into the open bag. He drew the strings to close it and looked at Mercy. She was as serious as a sinner confessing in front of the Leit. Maybe it was for the best she didn’t smile again. He was too fascinated by the high arch of her cheekbones and her dark eyes.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “We’re not going to settle this tonight. It makes sense for you and your little girl to stay here. I’ll sleep in the tenant house.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s very kind, Jeremiah, but I’m not sure there’s heat in the tenant house.”

“I can figure out something.” He glanced around the room. “Do you have blankets?”

“There are plenty upstairs. Help yourself.” After she’d given him directions to the linen closet and he started for the stairs in the narrow space behind the door, she added, “Be careful. Like I told Sunni, the floors aren’t as sturdy as they should be.”

“I’ll take my cue from her and test the floors before I step on them.” He hurried upstairs before his grin popped out and betrayed how pleased he was to have an excuse to see more of the house he hoped would become his.

A pulse of guilt coursed through him, hot and powerful. The farm belonged to Mercy’s family, and he’d be upset if someone came along and insisted his brother surrender his claim on the farm where Jeremiah had grown up. But if he walked away, he might not find another farm near Harmony Creek.

Leaving to live elsewhere might be the difference between the new settlement succeeding or failing. A settlement needed about a dozen families to prosper, and a single person not staying as agreed could doom it. He’d made a deal with the other families, and he couldn’t break it without trying to stay.

Following Mercy’s directions to a linen closet, Jeremiah paused whenever he heard the floor creak beneath him. Each time it wasn’t anything more than the sounds made by an old building. He went to the closet beside the single bathroom on the upper floor and glanced into each room as he passed. Most were empty. Remnants of wallpaper hung in loose strips, and a damp odor filled every breath. Nibbled acorns warned squirrels had invaded. He was sure they were in the attic, too. Once it was warm enough for the squirrels to go outside, he’d check the exterior and block the holes they’d made to get into the house.

If he was here then...

He sighed. “God, You’ve brought me here. Help me see Your plan and the way for me to be part of this new settlement.”

Selecting a couple of wool blankets and guessing there would be plenty of moth holes, he grabbed two more before he went downstairs. He could get by for a single night. If it went as he hoped, by tomorrow night he’d be able to sleep in his own house.

Mercy was waiting in the exact same spot where she’d been when he’d left. Again, guilt tormented him. Part of him wanted to walk away, but he couldn’t.

“Did you find enough blankets?” she asked.

“I did.”

“They may not be in good condition.”

“They’re gut enough for tonight.”

She rubbed her hands together as she had before, and he realized she was as torn as he was. Turning the other cheek was the Mennonites’ way, too, but he’d seen how her eyes snapped when she spoke of him keeping her from making a home here for her and her kind.

“If it gets too cold,” she said, “come back.” A hint of a smile played along her lips. “You freezing to death would be a real complication.”

When he chuckled, her smile broadened, revealing the gentle person she was.

“Don’t worry, Mercy. I’ll be fine.” He hoped it wasn’t a boast. The temperatures had been dropping fast when he came to the house. He headed for the door.

“Do you have anything to eat?” she asked.

Her question stopped him in his tracks. “No.”

“Wait here.” Mercy rushed into the kitchen. He heard cabinet doors opening and closing as well as drawers being slid in and out; then she returned with a plastic bag filled with odd shapes. “It’s peanut butter and jelly and a few slices of the bread I brought with us. Also a couple of cans of orange juice. It’s Sunni’s favorite, so I always have a bunch on hand.”

“It’s my favorite, too.”

The smile he hadn’t guessed he’d see again spread across her face, adding an aura of light to her eyes and skin. “I’m glad!”

That pleasurable something uncurled within him once more as he gazed into her pretty eyes. A man could get lost in those eyes. He looked away. He hadn’t come to Harmony Creek to get lost, but to find his dream.

Picking up his duffel bags, he opened one and stuffed the thin blankets inside. He felt like a hobo as he steered his bags and himself out of the house. By the time he’d reached the porch steps, he heard the dead bolt click closed. Mercy wasn’t taking any chance he’d have second thoughts and return.

He would be there tomorrow, he thought as he trudged through the snow. Because he wasn’t ready to give up his dream...when it was within his grasp.

* * *

The next morning Mercy surveyed the wall completely stripped of ugly, peeling wallpaper. It’d taken more effort than she’d expected to get the remaining paper off. Maybe she shouldn’t have done more work until she knew for certain what was going to happen with the farm. When the clock on the mantel in the living room had chimed nine o’clock, she’d used the phone in the kitchen and called Darren Paquette, Grandpa Rudy’s Realtor. His office was in Glens Falls, more than twenty-five miles away, and she’d been grateful to catch him at his desk.