The Mercy by Beverly Lewis

glad it was just the three of them tonight. Normally they would not speak so openly.
    “Whenever the Lord brings him to mind, I go right to prayer,” Mamm said. “ ’Specially at night, when sleep is far from me.”
    Dat looked at her with affection, eyes moist in the corners. “Emma, I daresay you’re a saint.”
    Mamm shook her head. “Now, Solomon . . .”
    Rose smiled in wholehearted agreement with her father’s assessment. Few folks she knew were as faithful in prayer as her mother.
    They ate their fill, talking about how nice it was that Mattie Sue had been able to spend today with Rose and Beth at the quilting. “Mattie’s so eager for when she’s old enough to make a quilt of her own,” Rose said.
    In due time Rose cleared the table. Dessert was peanut butter pie and hot coffee, but Mamm pushed her plate away after only two bites. Rose sensed she was struggling with more discomfort than usual. Dat must have known it, too, and got up to wheel her to rest in their room.
    When he returned to finish both his piece of pie and Mamm’s, he made small talk with Rose. “Sunday is Groundhog Day, but I don’t need an animal to tell me whether we’ll have us another six weeks of winter,” he said with a grin. “Seems pretty clear to me that spring’s a ways off. All the snow’s a blessing from heaven.” A good amount of snow in January and February made for a glorious springtime.
    Stirring sugar into her coffee, Rose ventured to ask, “How do ya think Mamm will do after the surgery?”
    “As the Lord allows . . .”
    She pondered that. “Same thinking as the bishop’s ’bout his silencing, jah?”
    “Aaron’s one trusting soul. A person can learn from a godly man like that.”
    She didn’t press further, knowing this topic was as much a thorn in her father’s heart as the ongoing pain in Mamm’s frail body.
    Dat steered the conversation to the household sale at the Kings’ place Saturday. “Would ya like to go along?”
    Rose recalled what her cousins had said at the Singing about the pretty sets of dishes and all, as well as Linda Esh’s mention at the quilting today. “That’d be right nice, Dat.”
    “Well, I’m sure you’re still fillin’ your hope chest, ain’t?”
    She smiled. Ever thoughtful Dat.
    They talked of all the farm and mud sales coming up in early spring. One thing led to another and Dat mentioned the construction soon to begin on Gilbert Browning’s new addition. He asked about Beth then, inquiring how she was doing since Mr. Browning’s return from his father’s funeral.
    “Oh, you should see how happy she is over her grandma comin’ to stay.”
    “Having Gilbert’s mother around might just be the thing the Brownings need.”
    “Jah, I should think it’ll help get Mr. Browning’s mind off his wife’s and father’s passings,” Rose said, truly praying that would be the case.
    “Well, a man needs something to occupy his mind and his hands at such times.”
    His heart, too? Rose wondered. She had hoped Beth might tell her something more about the letter from Jane Keene, but Beth had been mum on the topic today.
    “It’s good he’s got Beth to care for,” Dat said. “Such a jewel of a girl.”
    “That she is. Beth told me yesterday she hasn’t quit prayin’ for Mamm.” Rose said it quietly, aware of the stillness in the house.
    Her father looked away, blinking his eyes. “I trust your dear Mamm will be greatly helped by the surgery. I’ve never seen her so hopeful.”
    Nodding in agreement, Rose waited while Dat finished his coffee. He used his fork to get the crumbs from the piecrust on his plate before leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, weary of the day.
    Dat’s eyes fluttered open after a time and he looked at Rose, a somber expression on his face. “I s’pose there’s been no word from Nick lately.”
    The words jarred her. “Why . . . no, Dat.” Nick had flown to the world. As far as she knew, he hadn’t written to even