Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) Page 12

  He stopped and turned around. “Decency! You’re hardly in a position to lecture me on that.”

  “What? Why, I never—”

  “This hatred for the Evans clan has got t’ end, Mother. Perhaps you hold the key to startin’ the process. Have you ever thought o’ that?”

  She clamped her mouth shut and stood there, red-faced, staring him down.

  Wanting to put an end to the argument, for the sake of poor John Roy and Joseph, he broke the silence. “Give it some thought, Mother.”

  She glanced down at the boys. “I wouldn’t mind if you brought them.”

  Even as she said it, a wrinkle formed on her nose, as if the very notion of youngsters on her farm would stir up a nest of hornets. He knew it all stemmed from the loss of his twin brothers, Lloyd and Lewis, who at age two had both come down with scarlet fever. They’d lost the battle only three days apart from each other. Sam, three years old at the time, had been spared, and had no memory of that mournful period. He’d sure heard about it later, though. In some ways, he wondered if she hadn’t always resented that he hadn’t been the one to contract the disease instead of her beloved twins. She’d always talked about how everyone would dote over them when she took them out in the carriage, dressed in identical outfits and wearing perfect little smiles. She sure had a whole lot more daguerreotypes of them scattered around the house than she did of Sam as a boy, not that he cared.

  “Good day, Mother.” Taking both boys by the hand, he turned and headed up the street, past the Paris Fish Market and Grandy’s Best Meats. This time, she didn’t try to stop him, but he could feel her eyes burning holes in his back.

  “Was you fightin’ with y’r mama?” asked Joseph as they crossed the street at West Wood and Poplar.

  Sam released a long-held breath. “I guess it did seem that way, didn’t it? I’m sorry you had to be party to that.”

  “Party?” John Roy raised his head.

  “Are we havin’ a party?” Joseph asked. “Is that why we’s goin’ to the store?”

  Sam gave a lighthearted chortle, loving their innocence and wishing he could reclaim a little of it. “Well now, I’m sorry to say Mercy didn’t send us to the store for party favors, but that’s not to say she won’t plan a party one o’ these days.” He couldn’t quite picture her hosting anything festive at this particular time. Shoot, it was hard enough wrangling even a tiny smile out of her. He reached inside his pant pocket for the list she’d given him that morning. Looking it over, he noticed, among other items, a ball of twine, baking soda, maple syrup, and stone-ground corn meal. “Nope, no party today, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, can we at least get us some candy sticks?” Joseph asked. “Ar mama always bought us ar favorite colors when we comed to the store.”

  Sam’s heart took its usual tumble at the mention of their mother. “Well, o’ course we can. What do you think I am, a big ol’ grouch?”

  The boys giggled, and in that moment, Sam thought he would buy out the whole inventory of candy sticks, if it would take away the pain of their loss.

  14

  After scrubbing the last of the clothes on the washboard, giving them a thorough rinse, and wringing them out, Mercy dropped them into the wicker basket and then, with aching back, hefted the heavy bundle onto her hip and made her final trip to the clothesline. Garments of all sizes, colors, and types—from the boys’ underwear to Sam’s shirts and trousers to three sets of bedsheets and pillowcases—billowed in the afternoon breeze. Good gracious, what had happened to her quiet existence? Wasn’t it only yesterday she’d had the Watsons over for supper, sharing in carefree conversation while the boys entertained them with their antics and animated storytelling? Life had gone from simple to complicated in a span of seconds, and some days she wondered if she would wake up and find that all of it had been a dreadful nightmare. Oh, how she wished for it.

  Still, it could be worse. Sam had been nothing but kind, even if she still hardly knew him. During the week, he left for his shop at dawn’s first light and didn’t return until suppertime; when he was home, he took every opportunity to escape with John Roy and Joseph, whether outside for a game of hide-and-seek or to the store, as now, running errands. It was nice to be able to finish the laundry without being distracted by the boys’ constant pleas for attention. She loved them dearly, but assuming their round-the-clock care had turned out to be an overwhelming job.

  What had she been thinking, wanting to continue working at the clinic? Doc Trumble had been right to encourage her to take a break, at least for the time being, in order to care for the boys and tend to her household, but she still missed the sense of independence it had given her; the satisfaction of bringing home an income. Moreover, it pained her how quickly he’d hired a replacement—Eloise Hardy, a trained nurse who’d recently moved with her husband from Nashville to Paris to be closer to her ailing parents. Her qualifications far exceeded those required, and she surpassed Mercy in years of experience.

  With the sun beating on her shoulders, Mercy took a swipe at her damp brow and set to hanging the last of the wet clothes on the line, glad for the dry ones she’d been able to remove to make more room. For years, she’d used only a portion of the rope suspended in an L shape across her backyard, and had even pondered taking some of it down, but now she needed an extension. Her heart blossomed with gratitude, for earlier that week, the judge had granted Sam and her full custody of the boys. At the same time, she felt a sting, for her gain was her friends’ loss—and their loss was her lament. Would she ever feel whole again? And, more important, would she and Sam find the means for helping the boys heal from their own heartache, never mind that they were young and resilient?

  One of the kittens—she still couldn’t tell them apart—leaped into the basket of damp laundry. The sight of them romping nearby made her smile, and a kind of thick emotion seeped into her heart. She bent down and touched the downy-soft head. “Whichever you are, Roscoe or Barney, you sure are cute.” The kitten rubbed against her and mewed softly, as if to summon his brother, who came bounding toward her over the plush lawn. She went down on her knees and gathered them both up, bringing them to her hot cheeks, where a fresh batch of tears had started coursing downward. “Oh, Lord…oh, Lord” was about all she could manage.

  Regaining control, she placed the kittens back on the ground and returned to the chore of hanging clothes. She pinned the last item on the line about the same time Sam and the boys returned in the rig, their loud spurts of laughter renewing her sense of purpose.

  Over supper around the dining room table that evening, the boys chattered about the toad they’d caught in the backyard, the pictures they’d drawn in the dirt with sticks, and the pretty rocks and bird feathers they’d found. It was difficult to squeeze in a word edgewise, unless they happened to both stop at the same time for a sip of water, in which case Sam would make a polite comment about her tasty fried chicken and potatoes or remark about the sizzling heat and his eagerness for the arrival of autumn, with its cooler temperatures.

  Their conversations thus far had been of little substance, probably because they focused most of their attention on the boys. She appreciated his attentiveness to John Roy and Joseph but imagined he must miss his independence. So much had changed for him, and it still stunned her that he’d willingly given up his bachelor lifestyle to be chained to three people he barely knew.

  “Sam got in a fight with his mama today.” Joseph’s announcement brought Mercy’s chewing to an abrupt halt, and she knew her eyes must surely be bulging.

  Sam scrunched his brow and set down his water glass. “Not a fight, Joseph.” He gazed across the table at Mercy. “We ran into my mother in town today. She wasn’t what you’d call overly friendly.”

  “She tol’ Sam to come an’ see her,” Joseph went on, “but he said he wouldn’t go unless you comed, too.”

  Sam looked startled. “I didn’t think you boys were payin’ attention.”

  “We was. Well, I was. I
don’t think you like your mama very much.”

  “I like her fine.” Sam scratched his whiskery jaw. “Finish what’s on your plate, please.” Then he looked back at Mercy. “Like I said, she wasn’t friendly.”

  She swallowed and set her fork down. “I’m sorry for the tension I’ve caused between the two of you. Please don’t let me stand in the way of your going to see her. She’ll just resent me more if you don’t.”

  “Believe me, you’re not standin’ in the way.” He finished off his last bite of chicken.

  Mercy took a sip of water. “She must be so upset over this…arrangement. You never did tell me how she reacted to the news that you were marrying me.”

  He gave a droll little laugh, and she noted the pleasant ring to it. “Let’s just say it would’ve been helpful if I’d plugged my ears beforehand.”

  “I don’t know how you can joke about it.”

  “Can we be done now?” John Roy inserted, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

  “Yeah, can we? I’m full,” Joseph chimed in. “But not too full to play outside,” he added.

  Mercy glanced at the boys’ plates. Satisfied that they’d eaten enough, she gave a quick nod, and they pushed back in their chairs. “Carry your dishes to the sink first, please.”

  “Okay,” they said in unison. Hands full, they scurried from the dining room. She heard them drop their dishes in the sink with a clatter, then scamper out the back door.

  Mercy smiled to herself. “I believe they’d live outside if we let them.”

  Sam chuckled. “You’re right about that. I was the same as a kid.” He fiddled with his cloth napkin. “Gettin’ back to my mother…I make light of her rudeness because it’s better than feelin’ sorry for myself. Flora Connors likes to be the one makin’ the decisions, somethin’ you learned the night of the fire. And when things don’t go her way, she spreads her unhappiness far and wide. The feud aside, she didn’t appreciate bein’ left alone in that big farmhouse, and so she’s tried to convince me that her health is failin’. Meanwhile, Doc Trumble says she’s in better shape than most women her age.”

  “She’s lonely, then.”

  “I suppose.” He licked the underside of his upper lip contemplatively, while raking his fingers through his untamed blond hair. Mercy couldn’t help remarking to herself that his features were more than pleasing. “She’s made an art form outta manipulatin’ folks. Believe me, after thirty years spent under her roof, I know how she operates.”

  Realization dawned on Mercy. “I guess marrying me made for the perfect escape.”

  He squeezed one eye nearly shut and tilted his head to the side. “I guess you could say that, but I also care a lot about those boys. I don’t want you thinkin’ that gettin’ out from under Mother’s clutches was the only reason I married you.”

  “I’m actually glad that you had ulterior motives,” Mercy confessed. “At least I don’t have to feel guilty for trapping you.”

  He arched his brows. “Are you kiddin’? I thought you’d be angry.”

  “Why would I be angry? It’s not like I expected you to marry me for love.” At the mention of love, her cheeks went as warm as a skillet.

  “Love?” He batted the air. “Nah, ’course not.”

  A span of unexplained silence fell between them, so she searched for a new topic of conversation. “Tell me about your childhood.”

  “Only if you tell me about yours—and you start.”

  “Why do I have to start? I asked you.”

  He grinned. “Ladies first.”

  She liked his straight-toothed smile. “All right, then.” She adjusted her position in her seat, then began divulging all she could recall about her mother—her kind, gentle ways; her patience and munificence; the games they used to play; the household tasks she’d taught her; and her strong faith and desire to show Christ’s love.

  “It must have been pretty awful for you when she got sick,” Sam said. “How old were you?”

  “Ten, and I remember it like it was yesterday—the doctor coming and going from the house several times a week; my father and I trying to coax her to eat and drink; her dreadful cough…I think that’s when I first started entertaining thoughts of becoming a nurse. I was quite determined to make my mother well again. Unfortunately, my determination didn’t save her.”

  “What did she die from, if I may ask?”

  “They called it lung fever. I suppose today they’d say pneumonia.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. Do you think the boys are all right?”

  “I’m sure they’re fine, but I’ll go check on ’em to put your mind at ease.” He rose and walked into the kitchen, with its window overlooking the backyard. “They’re fine. Playin’ on the tree swings.”

  “I don’t think I thanked you for rigging those up,” she said when he returned to the dining room. Such a kind, generous soul he had.

  Sam smiled and sat down again. “I had to, after seein’ how much they enjoyed those swings at your aunt’s house.” He folded his muscular hands on the table and leaned across it, his eyes fully intent on her. “Okay, now tell me a little bit about your father.”

  “My father?”

  “Yes, what was he like?”

  “I imagine you’ve heard stories.”

  He cocked his blond head to one side. “A few, but I want to hear ’em from you.”

  “I’ll start by saying he wasn’t the most affectionate man. You would think my being the only child would have caused him to dote on me, but I think he always resented not having a son. My mother had four miscarriages before she finally had me. I don’t think she was terribly strong, and maybe that was something else that grated on him. Pa liked his booze, too, and it sometimes made him turn a bit gruff and ornery. Don’t get me wrong; he loved me, and I never doubted it. He just had a strange way of showing it.” She gestured with her hand. “One thing he did was provide for me. Despite his drinking, I have to say he was a hard worker. He paid off the mortgage on this house a year after Ma passed.”

  Even though she wasn’t thirsty, she took a few sips from her water glass before proceeding. “After Ma died, he was very lonely, and it drove him to drink even more, and staying out late, sometimes all night. I used to lie awake and count the stars outside my bedroom window, just waiting for the first sounds of his horse clopping up the drive.

  “Pa carried a lot of guilt for Ma’s death. He always said he should’ve tried harder, even though Doc said there wasn’t much that could be done for her condition. I’d hear him cry himself to sleep, and so I’d do the same, in my own bedroom. I wish now we could have cried together, but he wasn’t the sort of man to share his emotions, even with his own daughter.”

  Sam’s brow creased with concern. “I’m sorry for what you’ve had to endure.”

  “Thank you, but I didn’t do it alone. God has been my strength through everything—including the loss of my father.”

  His face blanched. “That was an awful day, wasn’t it?”

  Her chest heaved. “The worst. How old were you at the time?”

  “Let’s see…twenty-four, I think. Uncle Clarence and I were slavin’ hard at the shop and grumblin’ that my father was late returnin’ from his lunch break. ’Course, it was nothin’ new. He’d been doin’ that a lot, comin’ to work late, leavin’ when he pleased, takin’ long breaks durin’ the day. Really got my uncle’s goat. We’d formed a partnership, the three of us, and my father wasn’t holdin’ up his end of the agreement.

  “Anyway, we heard a bunch of commotion outside, horses gallopin’ up the street, and people just hootin’ an’ hollerin’. We stopped what we were doin’ to have a look. Folks were headin’ toward town. My uncle asked what was goin’ on, and that’s when one of Sheriff Marshall’s deputies rode up to break the news about the shootin’. I still remember the feelin’, the way my heart sank clear to my feet.”

  “I remember the feeling, too,” Mercy
said quietly. “I was working at Doc’s place when the news came in.” Her body gave an unrestrained shudder, and she instinctively rubbed her chilled arms. “How did your mother take the news?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned. “Strangely. That’s about the only way I can describe it. Uncle Clarence and I rode out together to tell her, and all she did was sit down in a chair, put her face in her hands, and shake her head, over and over. Later, after the trial and sentencin’ and all that, she fell into what Doc termed a ‘nervous fit’ and took to her bed for several weeks.” He gave his head a shake. “Truth is, I don’t think she mourned my father’s absence as much as her ruined reputation. Terrible thing to say, but it’s how I feel. My parents fought round the clock. They didn’t need much of a reason. He always threatened to fire the farm manager, Virgil Perry, just to get a rise out of her. Father hated the guy, but for some reason, he kept him on. Mother felt the same, but he knows that farm inside an’ out, so she’s left him in charge.” He chuckled morosely. “In those days, I’d come home late and leave before dawn, just to avoid my folks’ brawls.

  “I had big plans back then. I’d arranged to buy a small house over on East Ruff Street, but it didn’t pan out. The fellow up and sold it to someone else just before I was about to put the money down. I kept searchin’, determined to get out of the house, but then that blasted shootin’ took place, and I felt obligated to stay with my mother awhile. Didn’t think ‘awhile’ would turn into six years.”

  “Until I came to your rescue,” Mercy teased.

  He chuckled again, but it was lighthearted this time. “And I thank you.”

  That brought a pause to their conversation, so they sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the clip-clop of a passing horse, the dining room curtains whispering on the breeze, and an annoying drip coming from the kitchen faucet.

  Mercy stared at a fresh gravy stain on her newly washed tablecloth.

  To her surprise, Sam reached across the table and laid a hand over her folded ones. “You’re still raw from the loss of your friends, aren’t you?”