Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) (18 page)

“That’s unfortunate. The vandalism, I mean. But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

“Maybe nothin’, but Agatha Evans indicated you’ve been tellin’ folks Mercy won’t let me visit you.”

“Well….” He could almost see her mental wheels spinning. “It
is
because of her you’re not coming around every day. You said yourself you wouldn’t visit me without her, so, in a sense, it’s her fault.”

“It’s not her fault. It’s my decision. If you can’t accept her into the family, then I’m goin’ to have to limit my visits. Who of our relatives have you been grumblin’ to about my marriage, anyway?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Samuel, you make me sound like some ogre.”

“Just answer my question.”

“Well, of course, I pay visits to Ella on a regular basis, and Frank and George’s wives, Alice and Ida. I don’t see much at all of Hester, mind you. Clarence won’t allow it.”

“I doubt that, Mother. More likely, Aunt Hester prefers not to listen to your gossip. Neither she nor Uncle Clarence shares your hatred for the Evans family.”

“I don’t gossip. I merely state facts.”

He sucked in a cavernous breath and blew it out his nostrils. “You have to stop all the nonsense. Somebody vandalized Mercy’s house, and I wouldn’t doubt your negative talk, gossip or not, has helped stir the pot.”

“What? You can’t actually believe your own relatives would be capable of doing such a thing. I’d say, more than likely, it was Mercy’s cousins. They’re an odious bunch.”

He shook his head, realizing the futility in stretching out the matter much further. “We’re tryin’ to help those boys adjust to life in the wake of their loss. Surely, you can understand that much.”

No rejoinder followed. Instead, she took a few more swallows of her tea and gazed over the rim of her glass at something on the wall, perhaps the painting of sheep on a hillside with their shepherd. He could imagine her mind swirling with all manner of ideas on how to entice him to linger at her table.

A knock came on the door, and then Virgil Perry walked in without invitation, his towering presence taking up the otherwise roomy kitchen. Sam never had liked the way the fellow entered his mother’s house with a mere knock, rarely, if ever, waiting for her to beckon him in. Virgil had no greeting for him, just a quick, rather cold, glance in his direction. “I’m headin’ out to the west field f’r the rest o’ the day. Everything all right in here?”

“Of course it’s all right, Mr. Perry. I have no idea why you find it necessary to inform me of your comings and goings. Now, go on with you.” Sam noted how his mother didn’t so much as turn to look at the man. Sam stared at him, willing him to meet his gaze, but he kept his eyes averted. He made a little snuffling sound and walked out, closing the door none too softly.

Sam sat taller to see through the window, and watched him tramp back to the barn. “That man carries some chip on his shoulder. Why do you keep ’im on, anyway? I seem to recall Father wantin’ to fire ’im some years back.”

“He keeps this farm running fine.”

“He gives me the creeps. Always has. Why’d he ask if everythin’ was all right? Have you given ’im reason to believe I’d do somethin’ stupid?”

“For crying in the sink, of course not. My affairs are none of his business.”

“That’s what I would think, but he sure does like to act as if he owns this place.”

“Pff. He’s my hired hand.”

“He’s a little more than that, Mother. Maybe you’ve given him too much authority.”

“What are my options? You certainly never expressed any interest in taking over the farm. That would’ve been my one heart’s desire, you know, you inheriting this place. It could’ve been all yours.”

“You and Father knew from the start I had no desire to farm. It’s never been my passion. A person should be passionate about what he does for a livin’. Why don’t you sell this place and move closer to town? It would save you a whole lot of headaches.”

Her eyes rounded to saucer-sized circles, as if he’d just committed blasphemy. “This has been my home since your father and I married—just as it was yours for thirty years.” She raised her chin and jutted it forward, accentuating the move with a loud sniff. “Still could be, if you hadn’t decided to up and leave.”

He sighed. Would she never let up? He decided he’d outstayed his visit, so he finished the rest of his tea, set down his empty glass, and rose, the chair legs screeching against the wood. “Please, Mother, no more negative talk concernin’ Mercy, all right?”

She gave another loud sniff and raised her chin a notch higher. “I’ll do whatever I please, since that is exactly what you did in marrying that woman.”

Oh, but she could be a pill when she set her mind to it. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Good-bye, Mother.”

She cast him a pleading look. “When will I see you again? You hardly stayed long enough to call this a visit.”

He sighed. “I said what I came to say.”

“Surely, there are other things to talk about. I’ve been so lonely all by myself in this big ol’ house.” Her practiced, pouty tone grated on his nerves.

“If you’ll allow me to bring Mercy along, I’ll come visit again some night this week.”

She rolled her eyes skyward. “I don’t want an Evans on this property.”

“She’s not an Evans anymore, and you’d do well to accept that.”

She firmed her shoulders and shook her head. “Never.”

“All right; then, as I said before, I guess we won’t be seein’ much of each other.”

“I told you I wouldn’t mind if you brought those boys over sometime.”

So, she’d meant it. It crossed his mind that they might well be the necessary vehicle for melting her icy heart. “We’ll see. Right now, I’ve got to get back home to fix the window that someone, whether Connors or Evans, broke. If you happened to get wind of who did the deed, you would let me know, wouldn’t you?”

“Humph. I’m not sure how I’d ever come across such information. No one ever tells me anything.”

“Uh-huh.”
And birds bark
. Flora Connors, family matriarch, had an uncanny ability to stay abreast of the goings-on in the Connors clan. Sadly, he didn’t trust her much further than an ant could jump.

***

Through the sheer curtain, Flora watched her son ride off. A touch of guilt raced through her veins for her utter stubbornness, but anger quickly took its place. If he thought she intended to give an inch, he had another think coming. Those Evanses were all the same, a hateful, crude, uncharitable bunch, and none of them, not even Samuel’s wife, deserved a second look. Yes, Flora’s own husband had murdered Oscar, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d said loathsome things. No one knew the full story, of course—and no one ever would. Well, with the exception of Virgil Perry, who insisted on reminding her nearly every day of her life. If only she were free to fire him, just as Samuel had suggested. Too bad he practically owned the very shoes she wore.

She thought about the vandalism done to Mercy’s house. She would have to ride out to Gilbert’s place and remind him, along with his boys, Frank and George, that the Connors clan stuck together. In no way should damage be done that would affect their own kin. Dumb fools. No doubt, they’d been dreaming up their scheme when she’d gone visiting a few nights ago. Yes, she’d been complaining, and rather loudly, that Samuel had left her high and dry; she may have mentioned her desire to teach that new wife of his a lesson for tricking him into marrying her. But not at Samuel’s expense, for pity’s sake!

When Samuel disappeared around a cluster of trees along the sloped road leading back to town, Flora blew out a breath and moved away from the window. She walked to the screen door that overlooked the side yard, including the path to the barn, and spotted Virgil maneuvering his draft horses down the weedy two-track road to the west field. She resented his presumptuousness in intruding on Samuel and her, and later she would make her feelings known. A lot of good it would do. He had leverage—even more now that Samuel had married.

Life was such a mess right now, and the only way to straighten it out would be to spill the truth.

The
ugly
truth—which would never come out if she had her way.

17

W
hat’s it like, bein’ married to a Connors?” Mercy’s cousin Amelia, Aunt Gladys’s only daughter, asked between bites of lemon cake. They were seated in the kitchen, Mercy near the window, with a view of the boys playing on the tree swings Sam had hung for them. She and Amelia had always been close, perhaps because Gladys was her favorite aunt, and the cousins were of similar age. Amelia had married two years ago and now, at age twenty-seven, was pregnant with her first child, due in February.

“Not as awkward as I thought it would be. His father shot my daddy, but Sam had nothing to do with it. He still feels like a stranger, mind you.”

“It takes time to get to know someone through and through.” Amelia sipped her beverage between bites, swallowed, and then eyed her with particular interest. “Is he romantic?”

“What?” Mercy nearly choked on the forkful of cake she’d just put in her mouth. Her cheeks went hotter than the August sun. “Heavens, no. I mean, I have no idea. He might be, but I haven’t witnessed it. It’s not…you know…that kind of marriage.”

“You still don’t share a bedroom?” Amelia’s eyes blew up like green balloons about to pop.

“Mellie, you know we married for convenience alone.”

“Yes, but…well, I thought by now you’d…
he’d—
”

“No! He’s not like that. He’s very….” What was he? “Kind, and….”

“Patient?”

“I suppose.”

“So, what you’re sayin’ is, he hasn’t exercised his rights yet?”

“His—? No! Of course not.”

“My stars in glory, girl! Norman didn’t—”

She raised her hand. “Stop right there, Cousin.” Surely, her face showed crimson. There’d been a day when she and Amelia had been comfortable speculating about the things a man and woman did after marriage, but once Amelia had married, all such talk had ceased, to Mercy’s relief. Frankly, she didn’t
want
to know what went on between husband and wife, leastways not between Amelia and Norm. “May we please change the subject?”

Amelia tossed back her head of golden waves and gave a hearty, yet feminine, laugh. “Oh, oh, you’re blushin’ red as a tomato, Mercy Evans—make that Mercy
Connors
!” She put a hand to her slightly rounded belly. “You wait and see, darlin’. The day will come when you and Mr. Connors will fall over backward in love, and try convincin’ him then that this union is purely for convenience.”

“Oh, stop it, you ninny. We are not having another minute of this conversation, you hear?”

“I hear, I hear.”

Mercy rose from the table to get a better view out the window.

Amelia sobered. “Sorry, Mercy. You know I’m just joshin’ you, don’t you?”

She waved her cousin off. “Yes, I know. Just—don’t mention it again, if you please. It’s plain embarrassing.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be. Look at my belly, Cousin. You think it’s gettin’ rounder from pure coincidence?”

Mercy took her eyes off the boys and angled a glance at Amelia. “No, you silly goose. I know all about the birds and the bees, as they say.”

Amelia stood to her feet and filled in the gap between them. She put an arm around Mercy’s shoulders and squeezed her close. “I want you to be happy, Mercy.”

“I’m as happy as I can be, considering the circumstances.”

“Yes, well, they aren’t the best, I suppose.” Together they watched the boys trying to toss a ball back and forth, neither one having the knack yet of throwing or catching, despite Sam’s nightly practice sessions with them.

“They sure are sweet boys,” Amelia observed. “You’re doin’ a mighty fine job with them.”

Mercy stared out the window. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like an utter failure. I’ll never make them as happy as their parents could.”

“Perhaps not, but you can do a better job of it than most. God had His reasons in allowin’ that fire, and it’s not ours to question but to trust. I’m just glad the boys wound up in your care and not in the hands of strangers.”

“Yes, I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t fought to the end to keep them with me.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“There hasn’t been any more criminal activity around here, has there?” Amelia asked.

“No, nothing.”

“Good. Did the sheriff ever find the culprit who broke your window?”

“No, not as far as I know. I think he closed up the case, chalking it up to a petty prank. Apparently, he’s asked around town, but with no witnesses and not a single lead, there’s not much he can do. I’m beginning to think that it wasn’t our relatives, after all, but rather someone who randomly targeted our property. Probably some bored neighbor kids.”

“Well, we know right off no Evans would stoop so low. Can’t say the same for the Connors clan, though.”

“And they would say the same thing about us. It’s a toss-up between who’s meaner. I’d be lying if I said I trusted every one of our family members.”

She felt Amelia’s gaze on her face. “Bart an’ Davey aren’t the best at keepin’ the peace, are they?”

Mercy giggled low in her throat. “They gave Uncle Albert and Aunt Gertie a rough go of it growing up, what with all their carousing about town. They were a regular disgrace to the family for a while there, always getting into trouble with the law. I think they’ve finally settled down, now that they’re married and have a couple of kids.”

“Let’s hope so.” Amelia grinned. “I’d guess Bart’s not the best husband to Mary. Poor thing. I wouldn’t want t’ be wearin’ her shoes.”

Mercy giggled. “He’s always been hardnosed, bigheaded, ornery, and…I’ve plumb run out of adjectives, but I know there must be more.”

They shared a laugh before they let their gazes travel back to the two youngsters in the backyard. “Now that I think on it, I s’pose there could be a cousin or two on the Evans side plain mad about you marryin’ a Connors,” Amelia mused, “especially since one of theirs killed your daddy.”

“And then, there is our dear uncle Fred, who carries his own personal grudge against the Connors family. He and Pa were close. I think he died a little himself the day Pa died.”