Traces of Mercy (15 page)

“So I’m the outsider, and the outsider has to leave; is that it?”

“Yes, child. That’s it.”

“I’ll tell Rand I can’t see him anymore,” Mercy said, her voice rising in panic. “I’ll dress in black and do the chores and even learn to sew—just don’t make me leave, Mother.”

“You can’t deny who you are,” Mother said.

“Who am I?
Who?
How can I deny what I don’t know?” Mercy practically yelled.

“I can’t have the distractions that accompany your presence here any longer. I can’t have sisters worrying about your dinner parties and fancy dresses and the latest style in hair bows. I have children to think about now, and I need everyone to focus on their emotional, physical, and spiritual needs.”

“You have all told me, time and time again, that nuns have been called by God to this life. If that’s true, how can all of you be so easily distracted by temptations? Are you sure your calling is truly from God?”

The look on Mother Helena’s face was enough to make Mercy regret her sarcastic tone.

“From the time I was a wee girl, I planned to marry the church. To give myself to Christ and live my life in service,” Mother Helena said. “I knew it as sure as I knew my own name. God called me. And I would answer when I was of age. No questions. No hesitations. Until I was careless with where I went and who I met, and I fell in love with a fisherman named Padraig O’Brien. He became all I wanted, and because the heart wants what the heart wants, I turned my back on God and who I really was—and married Padraig. We had a son together. A beautiful little boy named Aidan, who was the best parts of both of us.

“I know what romantic love is, Mercy. How it feels. How it fills up every space in you until you are ready to burst with happiness that someone cherishes you that way. It’s the way a nun is supposed to feel about God’s holy love. But in the life of a religious, there is no room for both.”

“Where are they now? Your husband and your son?”

“Padraig and Aidan drowned in a boating accident,” Mother said in a carefully modulated voice. “I allowed myself to be distracted by the world. I took my eyes off God and turned my back on my true path in life, and because of that a wonderful man and an innocent little boy died.”

“But you can’t think it was your fault …”

“I have a house filled with children who have lived through the hell of losing one or both of their parents, and I won’t rest until every one of them has a safe and loving home,” Mother said. “I’ve grown very fond of you, Mercy, but every time you leave and come back, the world comes back with you, and I can’t allow that to continue. I’ll give you a few days to find other arrangements.”

“Lucky is truly mine now?” Mercy asked, the hurt on her face turning to hard lines of anger.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be on my way as soon as I can collect my belongings,” Mercy said. “I wouldn’t want to stay here one more night and risk being the cause of someone’s fall from grace.”

“I had prayed we could part in a civil manner,” Mother Helena said quietly, “and that you wouldn’t leave angry.”

“You told me God answers all our prayers, Mother. But I can tell you for certain, He won’t answer this one the way you want Him to.”

Before Mother Helena could say another word, Mercy ran for the house, resisting the hot tears she felt burning behind her eyes, and quickly gathered the few things in the world that were truly hers. With all the nuns preoccupied with their new boarders, Mercy slipped out the back of the house and made her way toward her horse.

Riding bareback on Lucky, Mercy nursed the flame of anger that had steadily grown since she’d left the convent. Better to stew in rage than allow any other emotions into her head—hurt, embarrassment, fear. She was the woman without a past. The outsider. The interloper who had been accused of corrupting God’s holy women by her mere presence. She had one moment of thankfulness when it came back to her how in tune she was with Lucky. The horse seemed to feel her every move—responded to the way she shifted on his back or leaned a forearm near his neck. They flew across the countryside, trampling shadows stretched across the ground as heavy clouds puckered with rain hung overhead.

Mercy came onto the property from the back, riding alongside the tall hedges that served as a barrier just days ago between a lovely summer picnic and two nuns who would unwittingly cause her to lose her place to live.

The Prescott estate looked to be sleeping in the small valley below—no one out and about under the timpani thunder that was a prelude to the first fat drops of rain. Instinctively, Mercy kept Lucky close to trees and bushes as they approached the back of the house. She slid from Lucky’s back, looped the reins over a low-hanging tree branch, and waited.

Mercy was soaked to the skin by the time the rain stopped and she saw Rand come out of the house. His father was with him, and Mercy shrank back farther into the shadows of the landscape. She watched Charles and Rand speak for a few moments, and then a carriage came from the direction of the stable and stopped. She felt her heart sink with the lost opportunity to speak to Rand alone—until the carriage pulled away and she could see that although Charles was gone, Rand remained. He started to go back into the house—but then he turned, and she felt as if he looked straight at her. It was the moment she had waited for, and she couldn’t move. Could a man still love a woman he pitied? He hesitated a second longer, and her fear and desperation won out over her pride.

“Rand!” she called out, stepping out of the shadows.

She was close enough to see his surprised expression and then the frown as he saw the state she was in. He quickly started to cross the space between them, and she moved to meet him, her wet dress heavy around her ankles.

“Mercy!” he said, finally getting so close he could see that the wet on her cheeks wasn’t from the rain. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, all anger dissipating into helplessness and fear, “or where to go.”

“I don’t understand,” Rand said, confused. “What are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you that I need help,” she said. “I need … you.”

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

Mercy and Rand rode side by side, and with each mile they went, she felt the weight of her dilemma lighten. She had gone to ask for a loan. Enough money to get her a room at a boardinghouse until she could find something more suitable, but Rand had a better idea.

He told her of a modest cottage his family owned on the lake. He’d spent summers there when he was a boy, and the family kept it for sentimental reasons. The place stayed empty except for a bare-bones staff. She could stay as long as she needed to. She’d made a few cursory, weak objections. “Your parents won’t like it.”

“They’re reasonable people,” he said. “And they know how much I care about you. I’ve not kept it a secret from them.”

“Still, maybe you should speak to them first.”

“Father just left for the day, and Mother has retired with a headache,” he said. “I’ll speak to them about it later.”

Less than an hour later, they brought the horses around a sharp bend in the landscape.

“There it is,” Rand said.

She stared at the home about a hundred yards in front of her—the manicured lawn and hedges, the gorgeous birch trees and meticulously planned flower beds. The house itself was a long, rambling one story with a shake-shingled roof that pitched out over a sweeping front porch with strategically placed rocking chairs. Acting as a perfect backdrop for the whole thing was a sparkling lake that went on as far as her eye could see.

“
That
is not a modest cottage!” she said.

“Of course it is.”

“No. It’s too much. I can’t stay there.”

“You can—and you will,” he said firmly.

“I … I will find another solution quickly,” she said. “This will just be temporary, until I can find some kind of employment and earn my own way.”

“Let’s just get you settled and then think about our future.”

She cast a quick, sidelong glance at him. “You mean
my
future.”

He smiled but kept his eyes on the cottage in front of them. “Same thing.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you were the one who put Mother Helena up to throwing me out of the convent?” she asked.

He turned to her with wide eyes. “I’m shocked you would suggest such a thing,” he said, feigning hurt feelings. “And I’m actually sorry I wasn’t the one who thought of it.”

They stopped in front of the porch. Rand dismounted, then held up his arms for Mercy. She slid from the horse, her small bundle of possessions in hand.

“Welcome to Ruby’s Cottage,” Rand said.

A screen door pushed open, and a black woman in her midfifties stepped outside. She fisted her hands on generous hips and grinned. “I sure is happy to see you, lil’ mister,” she said.

Mercy unconsciously crossed her arms over her chest at the woman’s appearance.

“I’m happy to see you, too, Kizzy,” Rand said. He sniffed at the air. “Do I smell shortbread cookies?”

Kizzy chuckled. “I swear to da good Lord, you gots a nose like a bloodhound, Mr. Rand. I just did up a batch. It be Isaac’s birthday, and I aim to give him a treat.”

“Isaac’s birthday? Today?”

Kizzy nodded, kept her shoulder against the screen, and shoved her big, padded hands into the pockets of a flowered apron. “Mmm, hmmm, it shore is. I hope you ain’t minding me baking somethin’ for the boy in the cottage. The stove in da quarters ain’t as good …”

“It’s fine, Kizzy. Cookies are a nice gesture,” Rand said. “Now, I want you to meet Miss Mercy. She will be staying here indefinitely.”

He ushered Mercy forward and up the steps of the porch. “I want you to afford her all the hospitality you can muster up.”

Kizzy’s chocolate-brown eyes did a quick sweep up and down Mercy, then she nodded graciously. “Welcome to Ruby’s Cottage, Miss Mercy. We’ll do ever’thing we can ta make you feel at home.”

Mercy stopped short inside the door of the cottage and let her eyes wander around the comfortable yet expensively furnished room. The green velvet chairs and sofa were high backed, with deep cushions and cabriole legs. Parlor tables were polished mahogany and boasted carvings of fruit, flowers, and leaves. Mercy knew nothing—or at least
remembered
nothing—about art, but even she could see that the oil paintings on the walls were of the highest quality.

“It’s … beautiful,” she said, not moving from her spot near the door.

Rand put a hand on the small of her back to gently urge her forward.

“I want you to consider this your home for now,” he said.

She had barely moved into the room when the screen door banged open and a gangly black boy charged inside. He was halfway across the floor before he realized he wasn’t the only one in the room. Stopping as if he’d seen a ghost, his eyes widened in worry, and he looked around as if to see who else had witnessed his entry to the house.

“’Scuze me, Mr. Rand! I ain’t had no idea you was here!”

“It’s all right, Isaac. We just arrived.” He gestured to Mercy. “This is Miss Mercy. She will be staying here for a while, and I know you’ll do everything and more that she asks of you.”

Isaac nodded. “Yassuh. I will. Yes, I will. Everything and more, suh.”

Rand nodded. “Good. I’ll need you to see to Sherman—and to Miss Mercy’s horse, Lucky. In fact, I’ll expect you to see to Lucky’s needs every day.”

Isaac nodded solemnly. “Yassuh.”

“Where is Ezra?” Rand asked.

“He be cuttin’ wood down by the lake. Letty be with him, harvesting some berries for Kizzy.”

Rand arched a brow. “Berries? Maybe for one of Kizzy’s special pies?”

“I ain’t sure, suh, but I s’pect so.”

“Could be that special pie is actually a birthday pie? Maybe for you?”

Isaac ducked his head in embarrassment but grinned. “Yassuh, but I think I’s s’posed to be surprised.”

“How old are you today?”

“’Bout thirteen.”

Rand pulled his hand out of his pocket and walked over to Isaac. He pressed a dime into the stunned boy’s hand. “Happy birthday, Isaac.”

Isaac stared down at the coin in his palm, then wrapped his fingers around it. “Thanks be to you, Mr. Rand! Thanks be to you. I be seein’ to the horses now.”

“Wait a minute, Isaac. You were in an awful hurry when you came through that door. What were you after?”

Isaac glanced toward the kitchen. “I smelled me some shortbread cookies, and I was gonna talk Kizzy out a’ one or two.”

“I don’t blame you a bit,” Rand said. “Get your cookies, and then look after the horses.”

Isaac grinned. “Yassuh.”

As soon as Isaac was out of earshot, Rand turned to Mercy. “Isaac will be told to come through the back door from now on, and only when summoned. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said.

“How many of them are there?”

“Them?” he asked.

“Colored people. Blacks,” she said bluntly.

“There are four
servants
at the cottage,” Rand said, gently correcting her. “You’ve met Kizzy and Isaac, and there are Letty and Ezra. They’re a married couple who have worked for my family for two decades.”

“And they all live here? In the house?”

“No, of course not. There are servants’ quarters behind the cottage,” Rand said.

“Oh. Of course.”

“Kizzy does all the cooking, Letty does the housekeeping, and Ezra handles the maintenance and the grounds.”

“And Isaac? Is he Letty and Ezra’s son?”

“Letty’s cousin’s boy. His parents are dead, and she’s his only kin. He does odd jobs, runs errands for Kizzy and Letty. Ezra makes sure he doesn’t just laze around all day long.”

“So … he’s an orphan?”

Rand nodded. “I suppose so.” He held out his hand. “Come on. I want to show you the rest of the place.”

She put her hand in his. “You’re sure your parents aren’t going to be angry about this?”

“I promise it will be fine.” He said it with so much conviction, it had the opposite effect on Mercy. She didn’t believe him for a second.

Given my history and my luck
, she thought,
I had best enjoy this cottage while I have the chance
.