Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) (16 page)

“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?”

“I’m doing better every day.”

“I’m glad for you if that’s the case, but don’t feel like you have to hide your emotions on my account. If you ever feel like screamin’ or cryin’ or throwin’ a little tantrum, I won’t object.”

She smiled, eyes still fixed on the stain. “I appreciate that. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a chance to throw a real tantrum in a long while.”

Without looking up, she heard his lips part in a smile. “Well then, you’re due.” He pushed back in his chair. “Let’s go outside and check on those boys.”

“You go. I should clean the dinner dishes, and—”

“The dishes’ll keep till later. And I’ll help you.”

“You will?” She couldn’t envision a man washing dishes or drying them, didn’t even know if she wanted his help. Growing up, the most she’d seen her pa do in the kitchen was draw water from the spigot for a drink.

There came a crooked grin on Sam’s nicely formed mouth. He stood and motioned with his hand. “Come on, Mrs. Connors. Let’s get some fresh air.”

Mrs. Connors
? It was the first time she’d been addressed by that title, and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

He followed her through the kitchen, and when he put his hand to the center of her back, a batch of chills altogether unfamiliar chased up her spine.

15

S
unday morning ushered in a thunderstorm, reason enough in Sam’s mind to skip church, but Mercy wouldn’t hear of it. “We may have had a good reason for staying home the last couple of weeks, our being newly married and all, but I wouldn’t feel right missing another service. The boys need to get back into a routine, and Sunday church is a good place to start.”

He would have liked to remind her this routine of waking early on Sundays was going to be a challenge for him. However, he had agreed to accompany her to church, and he didn’t want to go back on his word so early in the marriage—or ever.

Riding in his rig, they would be exposed to the elements on all sides, even though he’d pulled the canvas top up after hitching up Tucker. Fortunately, the rain dwindled to a drizzle just before they left, and there were enough lightweight blankets for everyone’s lap, which helped to keep them dry. Plus, the little country church was only a couple of miles outside of town.

Mercy had a fair-sized barn—nothing like what he was used to, but it had three stalls, enough for housing their two horses, plus an extra stall for storing hay, buckets of grain, and riding gear. Of course, their rigs stood out in the elements and were none the worse for it. It had taken Tucker a few days to make the adjustment, not to mention acquaint himself with Mercy’s Appaloosa, Sally. At first, the two had done a lot of nickering back and forth, pawing in the dirt, and Tucker apparently hadn’t been at all sure he liked the sights, smells, or sounds of his new quarters. But by day three or four, he’d settled down and started making himself at home.

The church bells chimed quarter to ten as Sam turned the rig into the churchyard with his new family in tow. He immediately scanned the area, looking for a parking spot that wasn’t situated in the middle of a big mud puddle. When at last he staked his claim on a patch of high ground, the boys filed out pell-mell and dashed toward the church.

“Boys, wait for us,” Sam called. “We’ll go in together.” He jumped down to the ground and raced around the rig to take Mercy’s hand.

The boys screeched to a halt and turned, John Roy’s hair mussed at the crown, where he had a curly cowlick, and Joseph’s shirttail hanging out of his breeches. Shoulders sagging, they waited for the adults to catch up.

“Never have I seen two boys so eager for church,” Sam said to Mercy.

“They enjoy it very much. Truthfully, though, I think it’s seeing their friends afterward that has them all excited.”

When they reached the boys, she bent to tuck Joseph’s shirt back in his pants, then smoothed out his short jacket. Since there was nothing to do for John Roy’s curlicue, she straightened his white collar instead, then gave a satisfied smile, pulling back her shoulders and glancing up at Sam. “Shall we go in, then?”

He grinned and swept out a hand. “After you, madam.” The threesome went ahead, and as they ascended the cement steps leading to the front door, he scolded himself for admiring Mercy’s pretty ankles when she lifted her skirts.

They found a bench about halfway down the aisle and scooted past an elderly couple who had planted themselves on the end.
Confound it
, Sam thought. He’d wanted an aisle seat, just in case he got restless and needed to step outside for some fresh air. It had been a long while since he’d sat through an entire sermon.

Several folks stopped along the way to shake his hand and greet Mercy and the boys. Some of them he recognized from town. The folks at Paris Evangelical Church were a friendly bunch, he’d give them that.

The lively hymn singing lifted his spirits, and Reverend Younker’s message took him quite by surprise, in that it actually held his attention. Speaking about a passage in the book of Philippians, the old preacher, who’d married Mercy and him mere weeks ago, exhorted the congregation to shine as lights in the world, bearing the likeness of God before their fellow men. Sam had to ponder that thought. Did people see God in him? He doubted so. How could they, when he’d barely cracked open his Bible in years—not counting the verses Uncle Clarence had instructed him to read in Jeremiah? Had he found true satisfaction in serving the Lord? Not at all. He hadn’t taken the time to grow or let God nurture him. How could he possibly know any kind of satisfaction if he never gave God a chance to reveal Himself?

The boys sat between Mercy and him and fidgeted, tracing images with a fingertip on each other’s legs or arms while the other tried to guess the picture. Every so often, they would erupt into quiet giggles, which Mercy quickly stifled. Once, she glanced over their heads at Sam and rewarded him with a minuscule smile, the sight of which made his pulse thrum in wild abandon. It was ridiculous, he knew; that his wife had a lovely smile should not have set his heart in motion, nor should the fact that she looked pretty in pale green, or that he liked the way she’d put her hair up, allowing some of it to fall around her temples, framing her face…none of that should have affected him. And yet it did.

At the close of the service, folks filed down the aisle, some of them stopping to talk to Mercy, others offering words of congratulations to both of them on their marriage. He wanted to remind them all of the circumstances surrounding it—tell them they’d married for the boys’ sake alone—but he figured it wasn’t necessary. There wasn’t a soul in town who didn’t know they hadn’t married for love. After all, he was a Connors; she, an Evans.