Sweet Mercy (13 page)

F
or several anxious days, Daddy and I waited for Captain Macnish to act. In that time, a couple of things happened. For one, Jimmy and Marlene disappeared. Rumors reached me that they'd eloped, left town one night in Jimmy's old jalopy, but I had no way of knowing whether the rumors were true. I wasn't about to walk across the street and ask Calvin Fludd where his son had gone. Nor did I want to ask Marlene's folks if their daughter had run off to get married. I figured I would find out sooner or later.

The other thing that happened was Uncle Cy received word that Aunt Cora's health was declining. He told Daddy about it in an off-handed way while Daddy and I were on our way to the dining room for breakfast.

“Well now, listen, Cy,” Daddy said upon hearing the news. “Don't you want to go see her? Rose and I can take care of the lodge while you're away.”

Uncle Cy shook his head adamantly. He stood behind the front desk sorting incoming mail as he spoke. “If I go
out there, it'd be the same as me telling her she's going to die. I'm not going to give her permission. She has to believe she'll get better.”

Daddy's brow wrinkled with concern. “But what if she doesn't get better?” He hesitated only a moment before adding, “You can't let her die alone.”

My uncle stopped sorting the letters and looked up at Daddy. His expression was one of anger, terror, and sorrow all mixed up together. “She's not going to die, Drew,” he said evenly. “Now let me get back to work.”

And so we waited. I went about my tasks at the lodge just waiting to find out when Captain Macnish would raid the station, where Jimmy and Marlene had gone, what Marcus would say when he returned from vacation, and whether or not Aunt Cora would die.

Finally, early on Saturday, Daddy came to my door with the morning edition of the newspaper. When I answered his knock, he held up the paper so I could see the front-page headline. One headline wasn't enough for this story; the paper had given it three, laid out across two columns in descending point size.

RAID A BUST!

Police swarm Fludd's Service Station
Find nothing more potent than motor oil

Without saying a word, I took the paper and turned aside into my room. Daddy followed and shut the door. My breath quickened as I stared at the headline and tried to make sense of it. I looked up at Daddy beseechingly. “Daddy, I know what I saw. The liquor was there.”

“I believe you, darling,” he said grimly. “Obviously, Fludd was tipped off.”

“By who?”

“I don't know.”

“One of Captain Macnish's men?”

“I don't know, darling, but not likely. Neal pulled the raid with outside help. He went to a couple of state troopers he knew he could trust. No . . .” He shook his head. “It had to be someone else.”

I sat down hard on the edge of my bed. I glanced at the paper, but the thought of reading the article turned my stomach and fueled my anger.

“What do we do now, Daddy?”

He shrugged. “Nothing much we can do.”

“But won't they just go right back to bootlegging?”

“That's almost a given.”

“Will Captain Macnish try to raid them again?”

“I don't know,” Daddy said. “Neal came by here briefly after the raid last night.” I looked up sharply, brows raised. “You were long asleep. I didn't want to wake you.”

“What did he say?”

Daddy shrugged again, rubbed one freshly shaved cheek with his long fingers. “Just said someone had got to Fludd before he did.”

“Is he mad at me?”

“No.”

“Does he still believe me?”

“Yes. He believes you. 'Course, when something like this happens, it kind of makes the police look bad for a while, like they don't know what they're doing. They may have a little public relations work ahead of them, try to win back
some of the respect they might have lost last night. You remember Neal saying he stopped raiding stills because by the time he and his men got there, the moonshiners were already gone?” When I nodded, Daddy went on, “This is the same thing only on a larger scale, because Fludd's playing with the big boys.”

“But who's that, Daddy?”

“Don't know for sure.” He shook his head. “Neal says Fludd has got to be connected with one of the major bootleggers working out of Cincinnati. Could be any one of a number of them.”

“And we can't do anything about them?”

“Cincy isn't Neal's jurisdiction, honey. He has to limit himself to the affairs of Mercy. He did what he could, but he's up against a wall that's just too big. It's hard to enforce a law nobody wants. People want the liquor, not the law, and there's too many willing to lie and cheat to see it's made available. So no, I don't imagine Neal's going to be pulling any more raids anytime soon.”

“Does Uncle Cy know what happened?”

“Sure, he knows.”

“Was he with you while you were talking with Captain Macnish last night?”

Daddy shook his head. “No, that was just me and Neal. But Cy read the paper this morning. He knows.”

“He'll probably say we should have just minded our own business.”

“He may not say anything at all. Probably figures we learned our lesson.”

“Learned our lesson? As though we were the ones who did something wrong?”

“No, darling, I didn't mean it that way. We did the right thing. We did what we could.”

I nodded while turning my gaze to the window. “You know, Daddy, I didn't think living here would be like this. I mean, I thought we were leaving all this bootlegging stuff behind.”

I heard Daddy click his tongue. “One thing you got to know, Eve, is people are pretty much the same everywhere you go. Most people are good folks with bad habits. That just seems to be the way of it.”

“Fludd should have been arrested.”

“Yes, but he wasn't.”

“Does he know we turned him in?”

“No. He knows someone did, but he doesn't know who.”

“I'm afraid of him.”

“Don't be. All he wants is to quietly go on doing what he's been doing.”

I looked back at Daddy. “Do you know what happened to Jimmy and Marlene? Did Captain Macnish tell you anything?”

He nodded. “Looks like the rumors are true. The two of them ran off, probably got married somewhere.”

“Well, that's one good thing, then.”

“What's that, darling?”

“Jimmy won't be Calvin Fludd's punching bag anymore.”

Daddy sighed heavily. “Shame they couldn't have had a proper wedding, but it's probably just as well for them to go on and start a new life.”

Poor Marlene. I wondered where she was and whether she and Jimmy had really become husband and wife. And if they had, I wondered whether she was sorry she didn't get to wear a wedding dress, walk down the aisle, and toss her bouquet
toward the uplifted hands of young girls eager to shed their maidenhood. I wondered what kind of life she and Jimmy would have from now on. With a jumping-off point of liquor and violence, it seemed like the odds were against them, but I hoped somehow they'd be happy anyway.

If, that is, it was possible to be happy in this world. Which, the older I got and the more I knew, was beginning to seem more and more unlikely.

I
f Uncle Cy said anything to Daddy about the raid, Daddy never told me. Any confrontation between the two of them had probably turned ugly, and Daddy would have wanted to shield me from that. I did notice, though, that the two men now seemed wary of each other and any conversation between them was stilted and cheerless. As far as his demeanor toward me, Uncle Cy seemed unchanged, as though I'd had nothing at all to do with blowing the whistle on Fludd's bootlegging operation.

The day the news of the raid hit the paper was a busy day on the island, as it was the Fourth of July. Uncle Cy planned a big bash for his guests with feasting, music, dancing, and fireworks. We all went about our business preparing for the party as though nothing at all had happened across the street. Morris made extra runs to the train station, bringing back a crowded jitney laden with both people and luggage of all shapes and sizes. Every one of our guest rooms was full, the suite occupied by the wealthy George Sluder and his wife who came for the weekend. When they arrived on
Saturday at noon, Mr. Sluder appeared uncommonly pale and grim-faced, as though he had a headache or a peptic stomach. Uncle Cy waited on the man personally, carrying refreshments up to the suite and making sure His Highness and the Queen were pampered and comfortable.

By early evening, the lodge, the grounds, and the island were all bustling with folks eager to celebrate the holiday. I was in no mood for merrymaking. When all my chores were finished, I feigned a headache and, accepting a cheese sandwich from Annie for my supper, retreated to my room. There, I tenderly lifted the brass ring out of my treasure box and held it to my heart. Marcus was supposed to arrive back in town in the morning. His father being the sheriff, as well as a possible beneficiary of Fludd's criminal dealings, Marcus probably knew all about what had happened on Friday night.

I clung to what Captain Macnish had said about Marcus:
“He's a good boy
.
He's just found himself between a rock and a hard place.”

Yes, surely that was true. Marcus was a good person in an impossible situation. He wouldn't know that I had been the one to tell Captain Macnish, but if he found out, maybe he would be glad. Maybe he would even thank me. Surely he hated the bootlegging going on at the station just as much as I did, but with his father receiving a cut, he felt helpless to stop it.

I stood at the window for a long while, nibbling on the sandwich and looking out over the activities below—the guests scurrying back and forth across the footbridge, the arrival of the band and their instruments, Morris and one of the other workers hauling enormous watermelons to the site of the party. As I watched, I discovered that fear and loneliness are
magnified by the happiness of others. Had the circumstances been different, I might have been out there too, mingling with the crowd and enjoying the party with Marcus. Instead, I was here in my room and he was gone, and I was afraid of what might happen when he returned. Marcus had been mine for such a brief time, and now that chapter might already be closing, depending on how he reacted to the raid.

As dusk gave way to dark, I slipped out of my shoes and lay down on my bed. Still clutching the carousel ring, I listened. The night air echoed with chatter and laughter; waves of joyful voices rolled up and down the river. Eventually, thunderous fireworks exploded across the sky, their flashing lights reaching into my room like momentary sparks stinging my cold flesh. Then, at last, music. Loud and boisterous and full of cheer. In my mind's eye I saw the dance floor, the flying limbs, the sweaty bodies, the gleeful faces. I should have been out there, dancing under the stars with Marcus.

I wasn't sure I would ever dance with him again.

Sometime after midnight, I drifted into sleep. I awoke in the morning with the brass ring still resting loosely in my palm. Putting it back in my treasure box, I readied myself for church and steeled myself for Marcus's return.

When it happened, it happened quickly and cleanly. Late Sunday afternoon I was on the island, reading in a deck chair by the shore. After the previous night's revelry, the island was subdued, like a drunk sleeping it off. A few people swam, others gathered about the picnic tables, one or two boats were out on the water. I couldn't concentrate on the open book in my hands for thinking of Marcus. I was wondering
when I would see him and how it would all play out when suddenly, as though out of nowhere, there he was.

“Eve.”

At the sound of my name, I gasped. I turned to look and when I saw him standing there, my heart sprang up in one brief beat of hope that he would think I'd done the right thing. That we would go on from where we'd left off.

I put the book aside and sprang up from the chair but stopped short of reaching out for him. Nor did he reach for me. We stood awkwardly staring at each other, the sun bearing down on us, the dissonance of voices around us receding into the background as my whole world circled down to Marcus and me and this moment. The look in his eyes said he knew exactly what had happened while he was out of town.

Tell me I did the right thing,
I pleaded silently.
Tell me you're grateful to me for trying to stop the bootlegging going on at the gas station.

But when he spoke, I heard the lead in his voice and I knew it wouldn't be so. “I heard about the raid,” he said. “And now Jimmy and Marlene are gone.”

My own voice betrayed me, scattering in fear. “Yes,” I whispered.

“Jimmy told you about the stash.”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“And you took it to Macnish.”

I hesitated a moment before nodding again. My voice still barely audible, I asked, “How did you know?”

“I didn't know. Not for sure. I just figured.” He looked at me a long time, and I watched as his breathing grew heavy and his cheeks grew flushed. “Why did you tell, Eve?” he finally said. “Why did you do it?”

Why did I tell?
Why did I tell?

The question ignited my fury like a match on dried kindling. I'd told because it was the right thing, the lawful thing, to do. Didn't he know that? I straightened my back and found my voice. “Why
didn't
you tell, Marcus?”

With that, our eyes locked in contempt; I was determined not to back down. As the seconds passed, my beautiful vision of Marcus began breaking apart, the pieces drifting away like dandelion seeds in a strong wind. There would be no putting my dream back together unless one of us acknowledged a wrong.

Well, it wasn't going to be me. I waited. His lips moved slightly, as though he had something to say, but he didn't say it. He didn't need to. We had made our accusations and that was enough. His mouth became a small dead line, and then he turned and walked away.

Finding Mother alone in her room that night, I broke down and cried at her knee. She listened to my sorrow as she stroked my hair. She crooned, “I know, darling, I know,” as I spilled my story into her lap. When I finished, she didn't bother offering empty assurances about other fish in the sea. She simply sang the song she used to sing to me when I was a child.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleepy little baby.

When you wake, you shall have

All the pretty little horses.

But instead of comforting me, the lullaby only left me crying all the more, and afterward when I went to bed, I scarcely slept at all.