Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) (31 page)

He loved Mercy, but he didn’t need her preaching at him. Not now, not ever.

30

M
ercy lay staring at murky shadows on the ceiling. Sam had left before dawn, before she’d had a chance to brew a pot of coffee or fry up an egg. He hadn’t even rapped on her door to say good-bye; he’d just slipped quietly down the stairs and disappeared into the early-morning dark, the owls still hooting, an occasional dog howling at the fading moon. It made her wonder if he’d slept at all. Perchance he’d lain awake all night, reviewing their conversation from the night before, then grown too restless to remain in bed. She prayed he would consider her caution not to let bitterness overtake him, for she knew how detrimental it could be. She’d seen it firsthand, when her ma died and her pa looked for someone to blame, making God his target.

Obviously, the events of the last few days had changed Sam on certain levels. She didn’t see that spark in his eye, that jovial, teasing spirit, or that gentle, caring manner. Oh, he’d been nothing but kind to her, but more guarded. Even his kisses had been short-lived, if they’d happened at all, before they’d bidden each other good night. He’d spent little time with the boys yesterday, and she wondered what today would bring, especially if he followed through with his plans to visit his cousins as well as Solomon Turner.

Frankly, the whole thing had changed her, too, but she refused to allow the disheartening news to chop away at her soul. Her father’s name had never been spotless, but this new revelation would drag it further into the mud and ultimately draw attention to her, whether in the form of sympathy or spite. Either way, she would do her best to keep her head high, her spirits uplifted, and her faith in God strong as ever. She could only pray Sam would do the same. If she’d learned anything about life, it was that when adversity struck, a person had one of two choices: focus on the Father in faith and extend forgiveness, or look inward and find bitterness and blame. She didn’t want to put herself in the second category. She’d seen too many examples of people it had ruined.

After she’d read from her Bible and then gotten on her knees in prayer, a sense of peace and refreshment came over her. Things would work out. She didn’t know how, exactly; she just knew that when one fully surrendered to God, He had a way of making it work for the good of those concerned. Just as she had done after losing her precious friends to the fire, she chose to claim her favorite Bible verse, Romans 8:28:
“And we know that to them that love God all things work together for good, even to them that are called according to his purpose.”
God
would
work everything out for good—He had promised to!

Aunt Gladys stopped by around eleven o’clock, after picking up a few supplies in town. “Just thought I’d stop in t’ tell y’ my house is too quiet since you children deserted me,” she said to Mercy when she opened the door.

The boys ran to greet her, squealing, so she bent at the waist with open arms to enfold them in a hug. “Gracious me, you’d think you didn’t just see me yesterday mornin’.”

Joseph snagged her by the hand and pulled her toward the living room. “Come see our great big fort, Aunt Gladdie.”

The woman glanced over her shoulder and caught Mercy’s eye.

Mercy grinned. “They’ve been working on it all morning, Auntie.” She followed the threesome into the living room, where the boys had fashioned a hideout of bedsheets and an oversized quilt spread across several dining room chairs.

“My, oh my,” Gladys said, clapping a hand to her mouth. “This is quite a fort.”

“We’s protectin’ ar town,” said John Roy, “’cause there’s enemies surroundin’ us.”

“Well, I suspect they’ll skedaddle once they get wind o’ you fierce fellas. Never can be too careful.”

“Who are the enemies you’re guarding us from?” Mercy asked.

“We don’t know their names, but they cause lots o’ trouble, an’ they always want to fight and be mean,” Joseph explained. “Everybody in the town’s ascared o’ them, so we have t’ keep people safe.”

Aunt Gladys slid Mercy another quick glance. “Well, you keep on protectin’ us, and we’ll all feel a lot safer.”

As the boys resumed their play, Aunt Gladys slipped an arm around Mercy and led her out of the room. “Seems like them boys have heard talk ’bout all the feudin’.”

“I suppose they’ve overheard some things, even though Sam and I have done our best not to say anything in front of them,” Mercy conceded. “They found out about the fight at the picnic from some neighbor boys. It couldn’t be helped.”

“How are you doin’ with all of it, sweetie?”

“Oh, just fine.” Of course, her answer came off a tad sarcastic. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“You know I would. Shall I help you?”

“Nope, you go make yourself comfortable in the other room, and I’ll be right with you.”

When she returned, she found her aunt seated next to the hearth, perusing a piece of paper. The woman glanced up, then went back to her reading.

“What’s that?” Mercy asked, setting a cup and saucer on the round table next to her.

Aunt Gladys held it out, and Mercy’s heart dropped. “Oh, that.”

“You told me somebody snatched Barney an’ returned ’im in a crate with a note, but you never actually showed me the note.”

“No, I didn’t think it was necessary.” Mercy sat down in a chair. “I’d completely forgotten about sticking it between the pages of that book.”

With scrunched brow, Gladys went back to studying the wrinkled paper. “Humph. Interestin’.”

“What’s that?”

“I recognize the handwritin’.”

“You do? Whose is it?”

“It’s my brother Fred’s awful scrawl. I’d know it anywhere. And t’ top matters off, he can’t spell t’ save his sorry life, so that makes it the more obvious to me he wrote it.”

“Uncle Fred? Aunt Gladdie, are you sure? Would he really do a thing like that?”

“O’ course he would, the old coot.” She cut loose a low growl. “Just as soon as I leave here, I’m goin’ out to their place t’ give him a piece o’ my mind.”

“But…it’s not yours to worry about. I don’t want you—”

Gladys raised her palm in a halting manner. “Don’t say another word, darlin’. I can handle my brother. In fact, I’d prefer to.”

Mercy took a sip of tea, then lowered her cup and saucer gingerly to her lap. “Thank you, Auntie. Saves me from having to confront him.”

Gladys waved an arm. “Don’t you worry your little self about confrontin’ your uncle Fred, or anybody, for that matter. You got enough stuff t’ fret over. I’m about as mad as a hornet right now, and I shall take pleasure in doin’ the honors.”

Mercy drew in a deep, unsteady breath. If her aunt thought she was angry now, Mercy wondered how she’d react when she learned about her other brother’s affair with Flora Connors.

***

Flora could barely drag herself out of bed in the morning, the way her stomach churned and her head pounded. Never had life looked so glum or insufferable. What did she have left? She’d lost her son, and soon she’d lose the rest of her family. What would her relatives say when she exposed her long-held secret? How could she possibly go through with it? She wasn’t sure, but if she didn’t, Samuel would spill the beans, and then folks would think even less of her. Oh, why had she been so foolish, giving in to her lustful desires those many years ago? Yes, she’d been lonely, and Ernest had started the whole business when he’d taken up with that tart MaryLou, but that hadn’t given her license to commit the same wrong. At least she hadn’t taken it to same degree. Still, as Samuel had said, the kisses alone were betrayal enough. Looking back, she knew she might have gone further, were it not for Ernest finding out. She’d liked Oscar Evans, until he’d turned on her for refusing to leave Ernest. And when he’d started sending threatening notes, why, everything had gotten plain ugly. In truth, he’d started losing his mind, and his excessive drinking hadn’t helped the situation.

To save face, Ernest had insisted they try to go back to as normal a life as they both could manage, and while it hadn’t been easy, they’d much preferred that to having their reputations tarnished. Oh, such a mess they’d made—
she’d
made—by living a lie for so many years.

Too weary to even get dressed, she found herself still in her nightclothes at ten, standing at the stove and preparing to boil a kettle of water for tea, when Virgil rapped at the door and then let himself right into the house. She’d intended to ask Samuel to fix the broken lock, but the way things were between them now, she couldn’t expect him to do her any favors. She whirled around. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop coming into my house uninvited? You know I don’t approve of that.”

His grin came straight from the devil himself. “At least I knocked. Give me credit for that much.”

“Pfff. Get out.”

Ignoring the order, as usual, he sauntered right past her, opened a cabinet door, and peered inside, moving a few cans and jars around. Anything to get her ire up. She decided not to react; she merely left the stove and walked to the table to stand behind a chair, gripping its back and wishing she were strong enough to pick it up and heave it across the room, hitting him square in the back. That would knock him off his feet.

Without removing a thing, he closed the cabinet door, swiveled his body around, and leaned against the counter, his flabby arms crossed in front of him. “Sam sure stayed a long time yesterday. What’d he want?”

“If that were any of your business, I’d tell you, but it’s not.”

His upper lip curled back in one corner, revealing yellowed teeth. “Thought you two weren’t on speakin’ terms.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

He chuckled. “Don’t you owe me some money?”

“I already paid you what you’re due this month.”

“I’m due for a raise, that’s what I’m due.”

Her chest ballooned with a heavy intake of air. “I can’t afford to give you one cent more, Mr. Perry. Now, kindly get out of my house.”

He pushed away from the counter, his smirk firmly in place, and headed in her direction. She tightened her grasp on the chair. “Don’t come near me.”

She’d always managed to hold her own with Virgil Perry; she was his bread and butter, and he knew it. Still, he did give her the creeps when he drew too close, with his oversized frame and unshaven face. The air between them smelled of hate and revulsion, but it also reeked of body odor, and she wanted him gone.

“What’s the matter, li’l lady? You seem a mite tense this mornin’.”

She would not back down. She raised her chin a notch. “I’m as calm as can be.”

“Is that so?” He glanced down at her hands. “Then why do your knuckles look like the blood’s been washed right out of ’em?”

She let go of the chair and dropped her hands to her sides. “You have work to do, Mr. Perry. Go tend to it.”

His chuckle grew tenfold, turning into a bitter-sounding cackle. “All right, all right.” He touched the end of her nose with a cold finger, and she lurched back. “Now, don’t you forget about that raise you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you a penny extra, you scum-sucking, beetle-faced rat.”

He laughed all the way to the door. “We’ll see about that, boss lady. We’ll just wait and see.”

When the door closed behind him, she pulled out the chair and dropped into it, elbows propped on the table, face buried in her hands, as if in deep prayer. That’s when it occurred to her that she didn’t know the first thing about prayer—at least, not the genuine type. It also occurred that the sooner she swallowed her pride and told folks about the affair, the sooner she could get Virgil Perry off her property.

31

W
hen Sam knocked on the door at the home of his cousin Frank, Frank’s wife, Alice, opened it and gave him a look of surprised delight. “Why, Samuel! What brings you here? Good gracious, I see your face took a bit of a bangin’ in that ridiculous fight last Saturday, but I must say you look a fair piece better’n Frank. Is this a friendly call?”

“Depends. I’m lookin’ for Frank. Is he around?”

“He is, actually. He an’ George are in the kitchen, gettin’ some refreshment before headin’ back out to the fields. Want I should get ’im?” She started to turn.

“No, wait! They’re both here?” Could luck have swung any better in his favor? Or perhaps it wasn’t luck at all but divine intervention. He let that novel thought ruminate for a moment.

“Yes, it’s nearin’ harvest, so they team up this time o’ year.”

Now that she mentioned it, he did recall that. Had he taken up farming, he might well have been sitting at that table himself. He often contemplated whether his choice to take another direction career-wise had affected his relationships with his cousins. None of them ever seemed much interested in spending time with him, and why would they? They had little in common, when it came right down to it. “Well, I’ll be. That’ll save me a trip. Thanks, Alice.”

He didn’t miss the tight little gasp that escaped her mouth when he strolled right past her, uninvited. His cousins looked up when he sauntered through the archway. Alice was right; Frank hadn’t managed to dodge as many fists as he had, and the same went for the black-eyed George. Both men scooted back in their chairs and stood, big grins on their faces. “Well, would you lookie what the cat dragged in,” Frank boomed. “Alice, get this fine man a cup o’ coffee or a bottle o’ brew. What’s y’r preference, Cousin?”

Sam raised his hand. “No thanks to both, Alice. This isn’t a social call, and besides, I haven’t imbibed since marryin’.”

George raised his eyebrows. “She got you in chains, does she?”

“Not at all, but I’m not here to talk about my wife—or the boys we’re raisin’ together.”

The men took their seats again, and Frank gestured to an empty chair. “Have a seat, then.”

“Don’t need to. Just came to say my piece, and then I’ll be on my way,” he said in dull monotone.

Frank gave a nervous chuckle. “Go ahead, then.”

“I’m here to tell you I’m stayin’ married to Mercy, and if any more intentional damage is done to our home—say, broken windows or upturned planters—I’ll be sure to point Sheriff Marshall in the right direction.” Frank opened his mouth, but Sam halted him with his hand. “Don’t even think of interruptin’ me, you monkey-faced clown, and don’t try to tell me you fellas aren’t the ones responsible for the vandalism—on a Sunday mornin’, no less, when you should’ve been in church. I ought to slap you both silly.”