Stealing Mercy (22 page)

Tilly scrunched her face in concern and looked out the window, she apparently still had doubts. Mercy followed her aunt’s gaze and saw a woman dressed in black standing across the street, watching the crowd clustered around the dry goods store. She turned away before Mercy could see her face.

*****

In the evenings, in an attempt to not draw attention to themselves, the girls left Tilly’s two by two in fifteen minute intervals. The ten minute walk from the shop to Georgina’s took them through Denny Park. There were six girls in all, some sullen, some frightened, some chatty. Each warmed to the shop and the work in their own way and in their own time. For some it took five minutes, others had needed days, but after nearly a month, the plan seemed to be working perfectly.

Mercy walked with Dorrie half a block behind the last pair of girls. Occasionally, she could hear the prattle and laughter of the girls ahead of them. At first, Mercy had tried to make conversation with Dorrie, but if the girl had any thoughts or ideas, she kept them to herself. Mercy knew she was still badly frightened. By the time they reached the gates of Denny Park, the shadows had grown long and the sky had turned purple and pink. Large thunderhead clouds billowed in the sky and a wind played with Mercy’s skirt. She hoped the weather would hold until she reached the house on Lily Hill. If not, she carried her umbrella. Rain had been uncharacteristically absent and the dry brown grass gave proof that rain was overdue.

In the park, they only met rabbits and squirrels, but Dorrie gave a sharp intake of breath and quickened her speed. Mercy followed her gaze and saw a shadow move behind the obelisk where she and Trent had startled the pheasant.

Mercy matched Dorrie’s pace without fear. She knew that Young Lee lurked nearby. She’d spotted him on the corner of Main and First. At first, a few of the girls had seemed nervous around the two Asians, but most had relaxed as the weeks had passed.

Mercy flushed thinking of how successful her plan had proven. The girls, who’d seemed willing enough at the beginning, had literally pinked with pleasure when the parade of customers, mostly men, had trooped into the shop. Mercy didn’t know how long it could last. While Trent’s grandmother seemed to have ample jars of dried fruit and just as many bottles of cider she gladly donated to the cause, Mercy knew that supply wasn’t endless. One day they’d sold nearly thirty pies. Most days they had to shut the door on a host of unhappy, hungry for pie people.

What could she do? The girls were delighted to work, the customers were eager to buy, but the fruit and flour would soon be exhausted. Mercy’s thoughts wandered to the other contents of her aunt’s shop and then landed on the cocoa and vanilla beans in the basement. She didn’t know anything about confectionaries, but she’d tasted a chocolate tart. Once. Tasting and creating were two very different things. Could she make the chocolate without the tart? She didn’t know.

Dorrie tucked her hand beneath Mercy’s elbow as the shadow reemerged from behind a lilac tree. The tiny purple flowers shook has someone or something scooted through the foliage. Mercy patted the girl’s hand and walked her across the street. She stood on the sidewalk outside Georgina’s house and watched as Dorrie paused at the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Dorrie asked.

“Tomorrow,” Mercy assured her, smiling and waving goodnight. Her plan had met success at nearly every corner except for one. None of the five girls had remembered meeting Rita. She had shown each of them her likeness and now carried the likeness in her bag. She felt badly for Trent and Mrs. Michaels. She knew that they must be disappointed to have come this close without any sign of Rita. She couldn’t imagine the horror of losing a loved one without ever knowing why. Also, no one fit the description of Belle or Melanie. Could it be possible that Steele had other brothels? Perhaps an entire chain, up and down the coast? Especially now since she’d met the girls and they’d become more than anonymous, the thought made her ill.

Suspecting that Young Lee followed, Mercy decided to take a short cut through a pasture. Most of the town had been relegated to a checkerboard of clearly defined blocks of businesses and residences, but, occasionally, a farmer held his ground, or rather, his property. Mr. Roblinski owned a small patch of land that he shared with a handful of pitifully thin cows and he refused to relinquish his farm to businesses or buyers.

Tired from her long day with a rolling pin, Mercy hunched her aching shoulders and dreamed of a bath as she followed the well worn path through the cow pasture. She saw the dark outline of the barn in the distance and heard the cattle’s low mooing. After spending her entire life in New York City, the sights and smells of rural Washington sometimes still surprised her. She wrinkled her nose as she drew closer to the barn and the smell of cows grew stronger.

The moon brightened as the sky darkened. The sun, fading like a memory, was nearly invisible behind the clouds that were falling quickly and turning to wispy fog. A flash of white caught her eyes. Something ran across the Roblinski’s cow pasture. The creature looked mythical and surreal in the fog shrouded moon. Mercy’s shoe sunk into muck. She lifted her skirt and shook off her shoe. What was she doing out here? She watched the white horse prancing in the empty pasture. Taking the short cut had turned into a poor idea.

Moisture hung in the night air. A lone street light illuminated the sign of the Roblinski’s dairy farm and penetrated the foggy darkness.

The shadow returned and Mercy hoped it’d come from the horse. “Hello?” she called. Her voice echoed in the dark; a low mooing answered from the nearby barn. A pin pricking sensation of being watched tingled down her back. What if she were being followed by someone other than Young Lee?

She stood and watched the pasture. Young Lee must have returned to the shop. She hadn’t commissioned him to play her body guard. He hadn’t any reason to follow her through a cow pasture. Nor had anyone else. “Young Lee?” she called out. No one answered.

Ducking between the slats of a split rail fence, she continued across the pasture. The cows had retreated to the barn hours ago and the white horse had disappeared. Mercy found the pasture’s stillness unsettling. Simultaneously, she tried to watch the ground for cow pies and the horizon for a glimpse of the horse.

Mercy followed the cow path to the barn, and took the dirt track that led back toward a city street. Dew coated the tall blades of grass that grew along the side of the road. Drops of water glistened on the green shoots that brushed against her ankles and calves. Although she could no longer see it, she knew the moon hid behind the fog. She caught a final glimpse of the horse. It swished his tail and turned into the woods.

A low growl came from other side of the road. A mutt with stringy fur matted in patches and missing altogether in others stood in a patch of moonlight. Yellow eyes, sharp barred teeth, he didn’t look healthy, or sociable. Mercy slowed, spoke quietly, and when the dog didn’t respond in a neighborly fashion, Mercy hurried through the sty to the street. And then she saw the shadow again.

The clouds blew away from the moon and the shadow turned into a woman in a long dark cloak standing in a shaft of moonlight.

CHAPTER 21

Melt with butter over low heat. Take care, if overheated, chocolate can develop a grainy texture.

From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

A thick, sensuous aroma filled the kitchen. It had a heady odor that Mercy had never before encountered. By mixing cocoa, butter, sugar and cider she’d created something that had seemed to conjure every stray animal in Seattle. Dogs and cats lined the alley behind the shop. They stood shoulder to shoulder, each jostling for position outside the open the door.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Cassie said, wiping her forehead with the end of her apron before returning to the pie crust.

Mercy shook her head at the gathered menagerie. “Do animals
like
chocolate?”

“They certainly seem to think so,” Hilda said, scoping out a cup of sugar and adding it to the vat of lard.

“I can’t imagine that it’s good for them,” Mercy said, wiping her hands on her skirt before brushing her damp hair off her forehead.

“That doesn’t mean that they don’t like it,” Cassie said considering the animals. “There’s plenty of pleasurable poisons.”

“Like that scoundrel Drake,” Hilda said, as she stirred a long handled wooden spoon through the concoction bubbling in the pot on the stove. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as each of the girls seemed to remember where they’d been and how they’d gotten there.

He was the one thing all the girls had agreed upon. Drake Wallace had been their poison. None of them had seen Rita or recognized a description of Steele, but they’d all been intoxicated by Drake Wallace, the cleft chinned man whom she’d first met on the ship.

“I wonder if he likes chocolate,” Cassie said, her hands on her hips.

Hilda stopped the flour cup mid air. “What are you thinking?”

Cassie laughed and folded her arms across her chest. “We wouldn’t kill him--”

Dorrie spoke up for the first time. “We wouldn’t?”

Cassie got a funny glint in her eye. “No, we’d just render him…useless.”

“The violence sucker?” Hilda asked.

Mercy stopped stirring. Of course, she should have thought of it earlier! “So, you girls know Dr. Merry?”

Cassie laughed. “WeallloveDr.Merry.”

*****

In the smoky room that reeked of tobacco, cheap whiskey and sweat, Trent fingered his cards and tried not to swear. A pair of threes, a jack, a nine, and a two-- some things just couldn’t get worse. His gaze slid to the man beside him, the evening’s objective. Trent had come to win, although not necessarily at cards.

For once, Steele didn’t have a female attached to him. The man lounged back in his chair, legs extended, ankles crossed. The cards close to his chest, the pile of chips near his elbow. Steele flicked his attention to Lector and Orson who stood as sentinels at the back of the room, arms akimbo across their barrel chests.

A girl came by with serving glasses and bottles of whiskey on a tray. Steele winked at her and she bobbed her head at him before giving him a fresh bottle. Steele slid a coin onto her tray. A hefty tip. Trent wouldn’t have thought it, although considering the heap of chips at Steele’s disposal, he could afford to be generous.

When the last man folded, Steele sat up and scooped his winnings.

Trent’s hands itched and his lips turned into a smile that stretched across his teeth. He hoped he played the part of a good loser when all he really wanted to do was throw Steele across the room and demand, where’s Rita? He hated the cat and mouse game.

“Well, that’s all for me, boys,” Steele said, pushing away from the table and leaning over his chips. He nodded at Trent. “I’ll see you tomorrow at your ranch. Demmed fine of your grandmother to invite me.”

Trent shrugged into his coat and stood. “It’s just a small, informal weekend.”

“I hear you got some of the finest trout swimming in your streams.” Steele also stood, an asinine smile on his face, but Trent’s attention had shifted to a potted fern across the room.

Tan breeches, loose cotton shirt buttoned high, a neckerchief tucked in around her neck, probably to hide her smooth, satiny skin, free of shaving nicks or beard stubble. What was she doing here? Or, rather, what was
he
doing? Did she really consider herself disguised?

He kept his eyes on her, but she didn’t notice him. Her attention shifted between a tall blond man and someone outside the window. In the gathering dark he saw the shadow of someone small in a dark cloak standing on the boardwalk. The Asian, he guessed feeling his temper rise. She’d promised him she’d stay away from Steele. Perhaps she thought her counter-self didn’t count.

He looked around the room to see if anyone else took note of the girl pretending to be a man, but no one seemed to notice. He sighed and tried to not acknowledge that when it came to Mercy he’d a heightened awareness.

He’d wanted to visit her as soon as he’d returned to town, but he knew he had to catch Steele at the tables to extend his grandmother’s invitation.
Make it look casual
, his gram had said, but nothing about the upcoming weekend had been left to chance. Everything had been carefully orchestrated.

“Tomorrow then?” Steele said as he counted his winnings.

“Hopefully, I’ll be luckier on the river,” Trent said, his voice strained with good will.

“How could you not?” Steele laughed as left. Orson and Lector followed, but to Trent’s surprise, Mercy did not. What was she doing? He looked around and noticed she had her eyes trained on Wallace. She flinched away from his gaze. Good. She saw him and he’d made her uncomfortable.

Why did she have a penchant for following men? Trent wandered over to the bar, ordered a drink and sat down to watch. He tried to catch her eye, but she kept herself studiously turned from him, giving him a rather lovely view of the back of her breeches.

For the past few weeks the need to see her had been like an itch in the dead center of his back. He saw her face whenever he closed his eyes and the warm wind that been blowing recently added to the heat that rose whenever he thought of her. He loosened his collar, uncomfortably warm in the close, smoky room.