Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) (25 page)

Mercy turned, spotting her family seated on the bench where they’d agreed to meet. The boys were swinging their legs, licking candy sticks, and talking to Sam. About the same time she started toward them, Sam glanced up and met her eyes.

He was leaving on the morning train to visit his cousin in Nashville, and the reminder brought an unexpected ache somewhere in the region of her heart. It had suddenly occurred to her that she would miss him. Day by day, little by little, he’d been stealing pieces of her heart, and she hadn’t recognized it until now.

24

B
y mid-afternoon, the boys had played most every game, participated in every possible race for children their age, and sampled just about every delectable treat they’d laid eyes on. It seemed the ladies of Paris had been cooking for weeks, if the platters of cookies, candies, cakes, and pies could be counted as proof. Mercy had done her part, contributing several loaves of bread, a beautiful triple-layer chocolate cake, and some jars of strawberry preserves. Each treat cost a few coins, the Paris Women’s Club donating the proceeds to charity, and Sam felt as if his pockets were emptying faster than a jackrabbit could shoot across a field.

His stomach felt near to bursting after partaking of the tasty buffet and then indulging in several sweets right along with the boys. Mercy, too, said she’d eaten enough to last her clear into next week. They’d laughed, talked, and enjoyed each other’s company as they strolled around Johnson Park, stopping every so often to chat with friends old and new, while the boys joined in a game of tag with some kids they recognized from the neighborhood, then played on the park’s seesaws and swings.

Earlier, Sam had seen his mother from a distance. It appeared she’d come with her sister, Sam’s aunt Mable, and her husband, Henry. Sam had intended to go say hello to them, and take his bride and the boys along, but his aunt and uncle had left before lunchtime, and he’d lost track of his mother. Now, he located her on the other side of the park, near a cluster of parked buggies, speaking in a rather animated fashion to a woman he didn’t recognize from this distance. The woman was accompanied by several others. His mother waved her arms about as she talked, looking downright cross. At one point, she raised her index finger and pointed it directly at the woman, who mirrored the gesture.

Sam nudged Mercy in the side. She’d been watching the boys as they frolicked with their friends.

“Hm?” She turned to him.

“See my mother over there?”

She scanned the area. “Yes.”

“Do you recognize the people she’s talkin’ to?”

Mercy squinted. “That looks like…Aunt Aggie. Look, there are my cousins on the sidelines, including her son Clyde and his wife, Effie. Oh, and there’s Davey and Bart, my uncle Albert’s boys.”

“Oh, great, look who’s joinin’ ’em.”

“Who?” She blinked, trying to focus. “Is that George? And Frank? Your mother’s bodyguards?”

“You got that right. Looks like we could be in for a little trouble.”

“Oh, no.” Mercy started toward them, but Sam snatched her by the arm and pulled her back.

“Let’s give it a minute or so and see how this plays out. We don’t want our presence makin’ matters worse.”

“That’s true.” She cast a hurried glance at the boys. “Maybe we should just go home. I don’t want John Roy and Joseph exposed to some kind of loud clash with our relatives.”

“Nor do I, but let’s just wait a bit.” He saw that a few inquisitive citizens had started gathering around the assemblage of Evans and Connors folk. “Ugh. Just what we
don’t
need—a batch of nosy people eggin’ ’em on.”

Moments later, another man entered the scene. “That’s my uncle Fred,” Mercy whispered. “Aunt Aggie’s husband. He can be pretty tetchy when rubbed the wrong way.” Fred sidled up to his wife and joined in the discussion.

“Oh, boy.”

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Mercy asked.

“We can only imagine. My mother’s mad about somethin’, but that’s nothin’ new. She looks like a boilin’ kettle whose top is about to blow.”

Mercy giggled. “Uncle Fred and Aunt Aggie aren’t any better. Saints above, I’ve heard those two go at each other a few times. When I was about ten, I saw Aunt Aggie throw a frying pan at Uncle Fred. He ducked just in time, and the pan hit the wall and broke a picture. Then Aunt Aggie started scolding Fred for moving.”

That evoked a chuckle from Sam.

Just then, something truly incendiary must have been spoken—perhaps a scathing insult or a vile accusation—for the voices rose in volume, and fists started flying. The crowd surrounding the conflict swelled faster than a four-alarm fire, forming a human ring that blocked Sam and Mercy’s view. The next thing they knew, someone screamed, and then several shouts erupted, as a dust cloud arose from the burgeoning circle.

Sam turned worried eyes on Mercy. “Stay with the boys,” he told her. “I’ve gotta get over there.” And he took off at a run.

***

“Did you really have to get right in the middle of it?” Mercy dipped a cloth in warm, soapy water, preparing to tend Sam’s swollen eye, his bloodied nose, and his lower lip, which had already doubled in size since the fight. It had ended half an hour ago, with a single gunshot fired skyward from Sheriff Marshall’s pistol. With the aid of eyewitnesses, the sheriff had rounded up the key participants and hauled them off to jail, and then he’d declared the community picnic over, demanding that everyone pack up and head home.

Fortunately, the festivities had already begun to wind down, or Mercy would have felt even worse. As it was, she felt partially responsible for the ruckus, since the spat had reportedly centered on her wedding. Sam’s mother had been lucky enough to escape jail, sent home with a reprimand instead. Mercy so wished the sheriff would lock her up for a few days, just to teach her a lesson; but then, he would have to do the same with Aunt Aggie.

Mercy didn’t know whether to be mad at Sam for joining in the fight or relieved that things hadn’t gone worse for him. He could have landed himself on one of Doc Trumble’s cots again, perhaps even sharing a room with her cousin Bart, who’d been knocked backward into a tree trunk and suffered a head wound requiring several stitches. Now, wouldn’t that have been a dandy fix?

“And sit still,” Mercy said, dabbing at his head. “I’m trying to get the bleeding to stop.”

“I am sittin’ still.”

“No, you’re squirming.”

“I’m not squirmin’. And, for your information, I didn’t get right in the middle of it. I got pulled in.”

“Couldn’t you have resisted?”

“When your cousin Bart threw a punch at my face, I had no choice but to deliver him a good blow in return. A man’s got to defend himself.”

“No choice? I think not.”

“Even the Bible says ‘an eye for an eye,’” he muttered through his swollen lip.

“I see you failed to read further,” Mercy retorted. “It goes on to say,
‘
Whosoever smiteth thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.
’
A couple verses further down, it says,
‘Ye
have heard that it was said, Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy: but I say unto you, Love your enemies, and pray for them that persecute you; that ye may be sons of your Father which is in heaven.’
That is the Christian way, Samuel Connors.”

“You’ve got those verses memorized?”

Mercy laughed. “You have no idea how many times I’ve recited that passage to myself over the years. Memorizing it came easy.”

“So, you’re sayin’ I was supposed to stand there and let your cousins beat me senseless?”

“No, silly, you were supposed to get yourself out of there and leave the whole mess to Sheriff Marshall to sort through.”

“There were people gettin’ hurt. I had to help defend ’em.”

“Your family, you mean. You had to defend your family against my family. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I—I don’t know exactly what I’m sayin’. Oh, I hate this feud.”

“No more than I.”

“I don’t want it comin’ between us.”

She continued dabbing at his wounds, unsure how to respond to his comment. His breath, warm and feathery, brushed over her as she worked, and she was keenly aware of his blue eyes examining her at close range. She swiveled her body to avoid his gaze, dropped the cloth into the bowl of soapy water on the table, and then wrung it out again. “A Christian seeks to exist peacefully with his enemies,” she said, applying pressure with the cloth against a cut above his eyebrow that refused to stop oozing blood.

He jerked when she hit a tender spot, and she didn’t bother apologizing. She’d suggested on the way home that he go see Doc Trumble, but, of course, he wouldn’t, his excuse being that Doc already had his hands full. For once, she thanked the Lord she no longer worked at the clinic. Injuries from senseless brawls were her least favorite ailment to treat, even though she knew not to show any bias when assisting the sick and wounded.

“It was nice of Dora Hansen to offer to watch the boys for a while,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “What did they say about the fight?”

“Thank goodness, they weren’t even aware of it. Dora noticed it right off and came over to tell me she’d take them home, as her family had just finished packing up to leave. The boys were so excited for the chance to go home with the Hansens, they missed all the racket, and since Dora’s husband had parked his rig on the opposite side of the park, they had no reason to look over there. They will, however, see your face as soon as they walk in the house. What do you plan to tell them?”

“I guess I’ll tell ’em I messed with the wrong people.”

“Be prepared for a bunch of questions.” She stepped back to study his wounds. “That’s about as much as I can do for you, except I think I’ll put a bandage on that cut above your eyebrow. How did you get that?”

“Compliments of Cousin Bart.”

Mercy grimaced. “I suppose you’re responsible for his falling backward.”

He looked only a little sheepish. “He made me mad, doggone it.”

She shook her head, making a tsking sound with her tongue, and reached for the bowl. “I’ll go empty this and get the bandages.” Before she could pick it up, he caught her by the wrist and turned her to face him, coiling his free hand around her other wrist. She inhaled sharply at the contact, and a shiver of awareness climbed up her back, her heart hammering hard against her chest. Slowly, he drew her closer, in between his knees, and then closed his legs, so that his thighs held her captive. It would have been easy to flee, but her feet stayed planted in place.

“I’m sorry for makin’ matters worse,” he said softly.

“I didn’t say you made matters worse.”

He nodded. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I didn’t go over there with the intention o’ fightin’. I wanted to do what I could to stop it. But I guess you’re right; I should have left the whole matter in the sheriff’s hands, even though it took ’im a good six or seven minutes to reach the scene. I’m just glad nobody else pulled out a gun. I saw a few who had ’em at the ready.”

She sucked in a breath. “The Lord knows we don’t need any more bloodshed. Does anybody know how this ruckus actually began? And is it true that our marriage sparked it?”

“To an extent, from what I gathered. I don’t even want to know what they said about us, but I’m assumin’ the conversation between my mother and your aunt was the kindlin’ for the fire, and then folks started losin’ their wits and throwin’ punches for no good reason.” Sam sighed. “Oh, Mercy. What’re we gonna do with them?”

She smiled. “It’s what they’re going to do with us that has me more worried.”

In a quick and fluid move, before she had a chance to resist, he pulled her onto his lap, and her pulse started thrumming in her throat. Why, she couldn’t remember the last man whose lap she’d sat on—her pa’s, probably, when she’d been a little girl. Sweet dancing Moses, what to do with her racing heart?

“Has anyone ever told you you’re as temptin’ as a bowl full o’ candy?”

A nervous giggle rolled out of her. “Good glory, no!”

“Glad to hear it. I wanted to be the first.”

With their faces almost touching, Mercy swallowed, realizing she’d run out of words. Matter of fact, her mind had emptied of everything, including the whole incident at the park. All of her concentration was required for the act of taking a normal breath.
Heaven help me, what’s happening? Is he going to…? No, he wouldn’t. But then….

He used a finger to tip up her chin. “Mercy?”

“Yes?” Her voice had a quivering quality she’d never heard before.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

“W-well, yes. You kissed me at our wedding, remember?”

“That wasn’t a real kiss.”

“It wasn’t?” She bit her lip to stifle her inner excitement.

“No, I’m talkin’ about a real kiss. Has anyone ever given you a…you know…romantic kiss?”

“I’m embarrassed to answer that.”

“Don’t be.”

“Then…I’ll admit no one has, but if you’re thinking about kissing me now, well, I don’t know if we should. I mean, I thought this marriage was supposed to be just an arrangement.”

“It
is
just an arrangement.” She didn’t know why his response disappointed her. What had she hoped he’d say—that he wanted to change that?

“Oh.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t kiss, does it?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t there rules about that?”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, as if deep in thought. “I should think we could make up our own rules, startin’ with kissin’. Let’s say that kissin’ is officially okay within a marriage in name only.”

“Just kissing?” She wanted to make sure to get it straight in her mind.

He gave one quick nod. “Yep, just kissin’. Nothin’ beyond that.”

She considered him for a moment while one of his thumbs caressed her wrist, making her pulse quicken the more. Trying to appear as though it didn’t affect her, she shrugged. “I suppose that’d be fine.” She snagged a quick breath and lifted her chin a tad higher. “Go ahead, then.”