Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) Read online

  “Oh, I don’t mind. I can find a hotel, if that would be better.”

  “No, Persephone would have my hide if I didn’t bring you home straightaway. She’s eager to see you.”

  Sam noticed the man eyeing his bruised face. “Uh, I got in a bit of a scuffle yesterday.” He rubbed his swollen jaw. “It looks a lot worse than it really is.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to see the other guy.”

  He scratched his head just above his temple and gave a sheepish grin. “’Fraid he spent the night at the local medical clinic, but don’t worry—you’re safe with me. I promise, I was only defendin’ myself. I’ll tell you and Persephone all about it later.”

  “I’ll be interested to hear about that. By the way, she showed me the letter she sent you, and I told her it was high time she unloaded that weight. Good golly, nobody should have to carry around a secret like that for…what’s it been, a dozen years?”

  Sam shook his head. “That’s the main reason I’m here. She said she had things she wanted to tell me that she couldn’t put in a letter.”

  “She certainly does. Come on, then; my carriage is this way. We’ll have to cut across to the other side. Watch your step around all this horse dung. The street cleaners don’t come out on Sundays till mid-afternoon. Sorry about the stench. Between that and the suffocating train smoke…well, welcome to Nashville.”

  Sam chuckled. “I understand.”

  “You must be famished. Persephone’s prepared us a late breakfast, although she had to pause and dash outside. Apparently, it’s the bacon that gets to her.”

  “Oh.” Sam allowed himself to imagine, for the briefest moment, Mercy carrying a child—his child—how she’d look with a pregnant belly. Of course, it made for a foolish notion, since the terms of their marriage didn’t account for that sort of thing. “Congratulations, by the way,” Sam put in. “Is this your first?”

  “Yes, indeed. We’re a little beside ourselves with enthusiasm. She’s not due to deliver till spring, so we’re in for quite a wait. It’ll be my folks’ first grandchild, and they’re more than a little excited themselves.” Hank gestured to the right, toward a cluster of horses hitched to rigs of assorted sizes. “Persephone’s parents don’t know, of course. I’m not certain she’ll clue them in. They aren’t on the best of terms, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard.” Sam transferred his bag to the other shoulder.

  “Can I take that for you?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll manage.”

  “My carriage is just ahead. It’s a short ride to our home.”

  Sam found his cousin-in-law a likable sort, genial and easygoing. “I’m anxious to see Persephone. It’s been years.”

  “I’m sure you two will have much to talk about. We want to hear all about your new wife, of course. Persephone remembers her, but with that feud and all…well, you know how it goes.”

  Did he ever. It wouldn’t be long now, and maybe—just maybe—Persephone would shed enough light on this ridiculous vendetta to give him a brand-new perspective.

  ***

  Flora descended the church steps, the hot, moist noonday air making sweat droplets form on her brow that would’ve rolled down her face, had she not had her lace handkerchief at the ready.

  “My, my, it’s so muggy today,” said Matilda Howard, the preacher’s wife. “Feels like we might be in for a good drenchin’, if those low clouds are tellin’ the right story.”

  Flora put on her best smile for the plump woman. “You’re certainly right about that, Mrs. Howard. It’s just plain sticky today, but it didn’t put a damper on the reverend’s fine message, that’s for sure.” Of course, his sermon had been duller than an old kitchen knife.

  “Why, thank you! I’ll tell him you said so.”

  Flora pressed her handkerchief to her forehead.

  “My, that was quite the hullabaloo at the community picnic.”

  “Pardon?” Flora pretended not to hear Mrs. Howard, with whom she had no desire to discuss the events of yesterday. All she wanted to do was tell her to climb to the top of Blue Ridge and jump off.

  “I said, that was quite a hullabaloo at the picnic,” Mrs. Howard repeated, glancing at Flora from beneath her feather-strewn hat brim. “It’s a sad thing indeed that it had t’ end on such a sour note.”

  Flora forced a smile. “Oh, I believe the events of the day had mostly concluded.”

  “I suppose so, but—”

  “I best be getting home, Mrs. Howard. I’m expecting guests for lunch. Good day, now.”

  Of course, she wasn’t expecting a soul for Sunday dinner, but she needed an escape. She made a beeline for her wagon, ignoring the scowls sent from various clusters of her family members still milling about the churchyard. Hadn’t she gotten her fair share of menacing glares during the service? She knew they were put out with her over yesterday’s fiasco, but why they faulted her for starting it was anyone’s guess. If somebody was to blame, it should be that old biddy Agatha Evans, who’d waltzed right up to Flora to announce that her own pie had placed first, while Flora’s wasn’t even a finalist—as if she’d needed enlightening.

  She supposed it hadn’t been wise to tell Agatha, in front of God and everybody within earshot, to go bury herself—and to take her pie with her. Insults had been flung back and forth, until someone had struck the first blow—Connors or Evans, Flora knew not. And so it had begun, the infamous altercation that had landed men from both families in either a cell in the sheriff’s office or a cot at Doc Trumble’s clinic.

  Reaching her rig, she loosened the reins from the hitching rail and then walked around her horse to the front, preparing to climb up. She’d planted her foot on the bottom step when a deep, rattly voice called out, “Mornin’, Mrs. Connors. Saw your Samuel boardin’ the early train. Looked to be the Nashville line.”

  Bringing her foot back down, she turned and saw old Mr. and Mrs. VanKuiken hobbling toward their wagon, arm in arm. “That so?” she asked.

  “Yep,” Mr. VanKuiken confirmed. “I was out for my mornin’ stroll. I only see’d him from a distance, but it was ’im, sure ’nough, all spiffed up in his Sunday-go-to-meetin’ attire. Guess he weren’t headin’ f’r church, though. He away on business?”

  She bit her lip, doing her best to appear unaffected. “I really couldn’t say, Mr. VanKuiken. It’s not as if I have any bearing on his comings and goings.”

  “No, no, I s’pose you don’t, now that he’s married an’ all.” He tipped his hat at her. “Well, you have yourself a fine day, ma’am.”

  “And you folks, as well.” She put on a smile and watched them pass. Apparently, they hadn’t been at the picnic yesterday, or Mr. VanKuiken surely would have brought up the ruckus.

  On her drive home, a few drops of rain started to fall, dampening her mood the more. What business did Samuel have in Nashville? Just then, she seemed to recall him inquiring about his cousin Persephone, who, if she wasn’t mistaken, lived there. Why on earth would he want to go visit her? She didn’t know; but suddenly, it became a most urgent matter that she find out.

  ***

  “What we goin’ t’ eat?” John Roy asked, the second that Aunt Gladys opened the door to usher them all inside.

  “John Roy, mind your manners,” Mercy chided him gently. “Remember, we’re guests in Aunt Gladdie’s house.”

  “Heavens to Betsy, you’re family, each one o’ you!” Aunt Gladys exclaimed. “And for your information, we’re havin’ beef an’ potatoes. Can’t you smell it?”

  Mercy inhaled. “It smells wonderful. Why is it that everybody else’s cooking always smells better that your own?”

  Aunt Gladys laughed as she waddled toward the kitchen. The boys bent down to untie their shoes, then pulled them off and set them in two neat pairs against the wall, just as Mercy had taught them to do. The notion that they were beginning to settle into a routine with her and Sam made her so grateful. Not that she wouldn’t have given a
nything to have her friends back, but she was thankful they were adjusting to their new reality.

  In light of the way the picnic had concluded, she’d decided to join her aunt, uncle, and several other relatives for the service at Paris Lutheran Church. With Sam gone, it just felt safer that way. Besides, he himself had suggested it. Still, she had to admit to feeling a bit misplaced in Aunt Gladys’s church.

  Sam had told her he’d miss her and the boys, making her expect something more than the parting peck he’d given her—nothing compared to the gloriously sweet kisses they’d shared last night. It made her wonder if he’d enjoyed them as much as she—and whether he’d ever kiss her with such abandon again. After all, he’d made it clear he wanted to maintain a marriage in name only.

  Gladys peeked around the corner while tying on her apron. “Won’t be too long ’fore we eat, darlin’s. Everybody make y’rselves at home. Matter o’ fact, why don’t y’all go upstairs and unpack? You can freshen up in the washroom, if you like.”

  “We’ll do that, Aunt Gladdie, and then I’ll come right back down to help you get things ready.”

  “Oh, ain’t much to do, really. Table’s already set—I did that before church—and the meal’s almost done. You just go on now and get settled in.”

  They enjoyed friendly chatter during the meal, both Gladys and Mercy making a point to avoid the topic of yesterday’s clash of fists in the boys’ presence. Thankfully, no one had brought it up with Mercy after church, for she wouldn’t have known how to respond. She felt just as much in the dark as everyone else about what had transpired between Aunt Aggie and Flora Connors. Only one thing was certain: Tempers had flared and sparks had flown.

  After a dessert of apple pie to round out the yummy dinner, the boys carried their plates to the sink and then, with Mercy’s permission, headed outside to play on the swings. It was such a pleasant day, now that the rain had passed and the sun had come out.

  If only she could crawl out of this hopeless pit of loneliness and longing for her husband.

  26

  Over a late breakfast, Sam relayed the most recent family news to a curious Persephone. Of course, her first question had to do with the brawl on Saturday, the evidence on Sam’s face prompting plenty of questions. She expressed sadness that the feud had escalated, and he thought she might elaborate—perhaps decide it was time to share her “secret”—but she remained mum on that, instead changing the topic to his marriage and the events leading up to it. She asked all manner of questions about Joseph and John Roy. After that, she inquired about the latest happenings around Paris.

  All in good time, he told himself. Perhaps she was having second thoughts about sharing the real reason she’d invited him to Nashville. He could respect that. Either way, he found himself doing most of the talking, answering her myriad of questions. He noticed that she made no mention of her parents, Gilbert and Ella, nor did she inquire after her brothers, Frank and George.

  After breakfast, Persephone stood and began clearing the table, telling Sam and Hank to stay put. So, the two got to know each other better. Hank had grown up the son of a preacher in Rochester, New York, and the family had moved to Nashville when his father accepted a position at a Presbyterian church. It was there that he’d met Persephone. She’d left home at seventeen, with nothing but a few dollars in her pocket. After five days of searching for work, hungry and destitute, she’d somehow found herself on the front steps of his father’s church. His parents had taken her in for a few weeks, until they’d found her a home with a kindly older couple whose children had grown. She’d taken a job at a neighborhood grocery, and her employer, finding she was clever with numbers and quick to learn, soon put her in charge of the books. She’d started attending the Presbyterian church, where she surrendered her life to God. Not long after, she grew a heart for children and started teaching Sunday school.

  “From the moment my parents took her in, I knew I’d marry her someday,” Hank said. “She didn’t have much to say to me, early on; truth is, she admitted later to not even liking me much. Of course, I eventually won her over with my charm.” He laughed. “I just couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. Here she was, a young woman who’d left home for lack of acceptance, and she was more mature and loving than any well-adjusted woman I’d ever met. My parents loved her, too, mostly because of her effect on my church attendance.” He winked. “My motives for wanting to go were a bit different from what they would have preferred, but I eventually got my spiritual life straightened out, thanks to Persephone’s example.”

  Ten minutes later, Persephone rejoined them but almost immediately excused herself again, clapping a hand over her mouth and dashing out the back door.

  Hank shrugged. “Like I said, she’s been doing this off and on. We’ve started keeping a pail right next to the bed, for when…you know, she can’t make it outside in time.”

  “Maybe you should go check on her,” Sam suggested.

  The fellow gave a nervous grin. “You don’t mind?”

  “No, ’course not. Please, go.”

  Hank nodded and pushed back in his chair, then hurried out the back door, leaving Sam alone at the dining room table, sipping his coffee and studying the pictures on the wall. “I eventually got my spiritual life straightened out.” Sam chewed on the phrase as he sat there, tapping his fingers on the side of his coffee mug. He was glad he’d stuffed his Bible in his satchel and meant to take time to read from it before bed tonight.

  Around mid-afternoon, Persephone emerged from her bedroom, claiming to feel better, but about the time they all prepared to embark on a sightseeing tour around town, she took sick once again. Later, while skimming through a book in the living room and listening to poor Persephone retch up what few bites of supper she’d managed to eat, Sam acknowledged that this trip hadn’t quite lived up to his expectations. Something compelled him to pray about it. “I know You’ve brought me here for a reason, Lord,” he whispered. “Please show me how to trust You fully. I believe Persephone holds a secret that might help end the feud—or at least give it meanin’. So, if You want me to learn this secret, please give Persephone the wherewithal to share it. Above all, Lord, Your will be done.” It might have been the most heartfelt prayer he’d uttered, and it was certainly the first time he’d offered his request right back to God in surrender, and the realization brought him a deep, surpassing sense of calm.

  When he awoke the next morning, somewhat confused about his surroundings, Sam blinked several times to clear his sleepy head, as the first powerful rays of sunlight cast their golden glow through the window in the little room he’d been assigned. He’d slept as well as could be expected, for someone who’d spent the night on an unfamiliar, lumpy bed, with an open window letting in all the sounds of nighttime—barking dogs and yowling cats, the clip-clop of horses’ hooves, the chugging of trains passing through town, and the occasional hoot of an owl. Each noise was nothing new; he’d heard them all on the hot summer eves in Paris, when the air was still and the windows open. But they somehow reverberated in a whole new way in Nashville, making him lonesome, missing Mercy and the boys.

  He stretched his arms skyward, then breathed in deep and threw off the lightweight blanket and sheet. Sitting up, he lowered his feet to the floor, and his right heel brushed against something. He bent over and retrieved his Bible. Just before snuffing out the kerosene lamp and drifting off to sleep the night before, he’d read until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, stopping midway through the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians. The last thing he recalled reading was something about love not seeking its own way or being provoked. The passage had made him think about the feud, and how it ultimately stemmed from someone not getting his own way. Selfishness—that’s what the whole thing boiled down to; that, and utter lack of love and kindness.

  Somewhat refreshed, he stood and stretched again, then padded barefoot across the room to the washstand, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. He groaned. The bruises had started to turn
a sickening shade of green, and the cut above his eye remained red and puffy.

  At breakfast, Persephone looked like a different person, even had a healthy glow about her. “I’m so sorry about yesterday,” she said for at least the tenth time, sitting across the table from him in the dining room, nibbling on dry toast and taking small sips of steaming tea.

  He waved his wrist. “No need to apologize, Persephone. Really. I’ve enjoyed gettin’ to know your fine husband.” Talking with Hank on the front porch the evening before, Sam had learned that he had a contract with the Tennessee Central Railway Company to transport passengers between the station and local places, such as hotels and steamboat landings, via the horse-drawn omnibus. This he did four days out of seven. When he wasn’t working, he attended class at the Peabody College for Teachers, aiming to earn his teaching certificate by the end of next year and, after that, put out his feelers for a job at a country school. “I’m a small-town boy at heart,” he’d said with a low chuckle. “’Course, Persephone would love to go back to Paris someday—but that is not to be.”

  Persephone fingered the rim of her cup and smiled, and Sam recognized for the first time her Connors smile and nose. She was a real beauty, with her golden locks tied back in a bun, a few stray strands falling around her face, framing her high cheekbones.

  “He is a fine man, my Hank. He was sorry he needed to work today, but he’s trying to put in some extra time, in hopes that his boss will show a little leniency, should the baby decide to come on a day he’s assigned to work. We’ll have to wait and see how that goes.”

  Sam nodded. “And what about you? Hank said you’re still keepin’ books for Appleton’s Grocery Store. Guess I wasn’t aware you’d keep workin’ in…your…um, condition.”

  She tossed back her head and laughed, the sound putting him in mind of church bells—and his aunt Ella. He still wondered what had caused the rift in their relationship.