An Amish Arrangement. Jo Brown Ann

was wrong with the heat.

      Despite herself, she glanced out the window that gave her a view of the trees separating them from the tenant house. She hadn’t spoken to Jeremiah since he’d left after the meeting with his Realtor. She’d seen big delivery trucks in the yard the following day and watched him accept delivery of a horse, a buggy and a dozen large wooden crates, which he’d moved into an outbuilding. He’d spent time inside, coming out with pieces of wood, so she guessed he was unpacking what he’d shipped to the farm.

      That was a sign Jeremiah intended to stay.

      No surprise, but if he thought she’d give up because he was making himself at home, he was in for a big surprise. She’d waited years for an opportunity to host city kids on a farm.

      She’d thought her grandfather comprehended her need to pay forward the gifts she’d been given. Instantly, she was contrite. She couldn’t fault Grandpa Rudy for his change of heart about what should happen with the farm after he died, but she wished he’d talked to her before signing a deal with Jeremiah.

      He was as much an innocent victim of this mess as she was. Of course, if he withdrew his offer, that might make a difference for her aunts and uncles. Would they be more willing to give her time to find funds to set up the farm if they didn’t have an available buyer?

      Mercy had discussed that with her parents last night. Her father had sympathy for how her plans for the farm might have died along with Rudy, but he’d also emphasized that he’d go along with what his siblings decided.

      “I’ve got to admit,” Dad had told her before they’d hung up, “I’d really like to have you and Sunni closer to the rest of the family.”

      “But there’s no place near your house where I could afford to buy land.” She’d tried not to sound like a petulant child who hadn’t gotten her way.

      “If that’s what God wants you to do, He’ll help you find a way.”

      She agreed and was sure God had led her to Harmony Creek and the farm. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have uprooted Sunni, leaving behind trusted specialists and physical therapists who worked with her daughter.

      Now...

      Mercy winced as she entered the kitchen and felt the cold wind that had found its way into the house. Opening the cellar door, she heard silence. Why wasn’t the furnace running?

      A quick check of the fuel tank gauge showed it was half-full. Next, she went to the furnace, which was raised up so high off the floor she had to stand on tiptoe to see the dials. Why wouldn’t it start? She tried flipping the emergency switch at the top of the cellar steps.

      Nothing.

      If possible, it seemed colder when she returned to the kitchen. She needed help. She glanced at the snow sparkling as if stars had fallen along with the flakes. The road twisting through the hollow had vanished. If she called someone, how long would it take them to get to the house?

      Her gaze settled on the tenant house. Should she ask Jeremiah to check the furnace? She’d ignored him for three days, but she wasn’t sure who else would be able to help them. She didn’t want Sunni getting sick from the cold.

      Before she could talk herself out of it, Mercy reached for the phone, an old avocado-colored unit she’d found in a drawer. She’d hung it on the wall. The long cord allowed her to walk around the kitchen while she talked. She looked at the faded numbers on the wall beside the phone and dialed the one for the tenant house.

      “Hello?” Jeremiah sounded astonished to be answering a phone.

      She knew many Amish didn’t keep phones in their houses, but had them in the barns or a phone shack shared by multiple families.

      “Jeremiah, it is Mercy. Mercy Bamberger.” Who else named Mercy would know he was living at the tenant house?

      “Ja. Gute mariye, Mercy.” He sounded awkward and uncertain as he went on. “I hope my work hasn’t disturbed you or Sunni. I—”

      Not wanting to let the conversation drag along, she said, “I don’t think my furnace is working. Will you look at it?”

      She could almost see him nod before he told her he’d be over in a few minutes. Thanking him, she hung up.

      Starting the coffeemaker, she sighed. If Jeremiah took over the farm, he’d strip the electric wires out of the house. She wondered what it’d be like to live without electricity.

      A knock on the door told her Jeremiah was as good as his word. Taking a steadying breath, she opened it. She forced a smile, which she hoped looked more welcoming than it felt.

      Knocking snow off his boots, Jeremiah stepped inside. He unwrapped a blue-and-green scarf from around his face and let it hang over his shoulders as he unbuttoned his black wool coat. Lifting off his hat of the same fabric, he placed it on the counter near the door.

      Her heart beat a bit too fast when she stood close to him again. She’d thought of him as a problem, but with him an arm’s length away, she couldn’t help noticing, as if for the first time, his strong jaw and the intelligence in his compelling blue eyes. As he pulled off worn work gloves, she stared at the nicks on his knuckles and stain on his fingertips. He was a man accustomed to hard work.

      Graham, her former fiancé, popped into her mind. A fastidious man, his hands always looked as if he’d just had a manicure. She’d been surprised to discover he had his nails done when he took his mother to the beauty shop. When he’d told her it made Mrs. Rapp happy, Mercy had, at first, seen it as a sign of him caring deeply about others. She hadn’t guessed he’d cared more about his mother than he’d ever care for her.

      “Thanks for coming over,” Mercy said, holding out her hand for Jeremiah’s coat.

      He handed it to her, and waves of cold washed over her. It must be more frigid outside than in the house. Maybe the furnace hadn’t gone out too long ago and fixing it would be easy.

      “What have you done so far?” he asked, combing his fingers through his reddish hair.

      “I checked the fuel oil tank.” She set his coat over a kitchen chair. “There’s oil in the tank, so I don’t know what’s wrong.”

      “Let me look at it.”

      “Thanks!” She motioned toward 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