Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) (15 page)

He didn’t much feel like hugging her, so he rested his hands on both boys’ shoulders. “Have you met John Roy and Joseph?”

She peered down her nose at them, and he noted the lack of warmth in her eyes, not to mention the absence of a smile. “I saw them the night of the…you know. How do you do?” She made no move to shake their hands.

“Boys, this is my mother. Can you say hello?”

“Hello,” Joseph answered for both of them, standing taller and jutting out his chin. “We don’t gots parents anymore, so Mercy an’ Sam took their place.”

His heart must have stopped for all of two beats. “We didn’t ‘take their place,’ Joseph,” he hastened to reply. “We just….” He looked to his mother, wishing she would offer a word of consolation. Of course, she stood stock-still and silent, whether because she was unable to find the proper words or because she was completely aloof, he couldn’t say. “We just want to give you a home to grow up in…a place to feel safe.”

“I felt safe in my other house, but it burned down. What if Mercy’s burns down, too?”

If he were a regular church attendee, Sam might have had an apt response, something borrowed from a wise preacher. “That’s not goin’ to happen, Joseph,” was all he could say, despite knowing he shouldn’t make any such promise. Houses and businesses went up in flames all the time. How did one explain to a six-year-old that the things in which you placed your hope and trust sometimes vanished in a moment? Even adults struggled to come to terms with this fact. If Mercy were here, she would say that God was in control of the universe, even when tragedy struck and hearts shattered, and that those who placed their trust fully in Him would not be disappointed.

Sam glanced at his mother again, for once wishing she would speak. For crying out loud, the boys’ parents had perished in a fire, and all she could do was stand there and bite on her lip? He wanted to give her a good shake.

“Do you gots any kitties?” John Roy asked in a quiet, somber tone.

“What’s that?” His mother leaned in.

“Kitties. Do you gots any kitties at your house?”

“Oh, cats?” She cast Sam a long look. “No. Well, yes, I suppose there are cats out in the barn. Virgil—er, Mr. Perry always keeps them out there, for the mice, you see. They’re not pets, though. No.”

“We gots two kitties. They’s named Barney and Roscoe. Roscoe’s my kitty. Mercy lets him sleep with me.”

“Oh, dear.” She wrinkled her nose.

Sam might have laughed, had he been more in the mood. His mother detested animals of all types, which was uncanny, considering she lived on a farm that bred cattle for milk and meat, grazed horses and goats, and raised a few chickens for eggs. Of course, Virgil Perry had always manned the farm, taking more ownership of it than even his father had. Sam often wondered if his mother planned to transfer the deed to him someday. He supposed it wouldn’t bother him, one way or the other, although he’d never liked Virgil Perry. The fellow had an arrogant air that chewed on Sam’s last nerve.

“We got ar kitties at that Gladdie lady’s house.”

“That—who?” his mother asked.

Sam shook the clogged thoughts from his head. “Gladys Froeling.”

“Oh.” His mother’s forehead crumpled. “Her.”

“Mercy’s aunt.”

“Yes, yes, I know who she is. Good gracious, I’ve lived in these parts a lot longer than you have.”

“Yes, you have,
Mother
.” He turned to the boys. “Well, we’d best move on.” He cast his mother one last look. “It was nice seein’ you.”

As they proceeded past her, she reached out and touched his arm, sending a quivering chill right up his back. She had never been very demonstrative. “When am I going to see you again?”

He lifted both eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t want anythin’ to do with me.”

“Where would you get that idea?”

“You didn’t come to my weddin’.”

“Well, of course I didn’t, and I think you know why. I would like for you to visit, but I made it clear I don’t want you bringing…
her
.”

“I see.” He issued a brief smile and sighed. “Then, I suppose we won’t be seein’ much of each other.” He turned and urged the boys onward, hastening his steps at the sound of his mother’s heels clipping frantically along the wooden planks after him.

“Surely, you don’t mean to say you’re cutting off all ties,” she said to his back. “How could you do such a thing to your own mother? Have you no sense of decency?”

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

A
fter 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.”