Traces of Mercy (16 page)

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

When I got up this morning I had no idea things would change so drastically for me. When Mother Helena made me leave the convent, I went straight to Rand. I knew he would help me, but I had no idea I would end up in such a beautiful place. By going to him as I did—by accepting his help and living in his house—what am I saying to him? Have I accepted that my past is just that—the past? Is it time for me to get on with my life without the weight of what might have been? I’m growing tired of worrying about people I can’t even remember—people who may have gone on with their lives without me.

There are blacks here. Servants who live on the property and take care of the house and the grounds. I don’t know why that bothers me—but it does. I tried not to let it show, but I think Rand noticed my aversion to them. Where does that come from? Why do I feel the way I do?

Tonight, I will sleep in a real bed with soft sheets and a beautiful quilt in a room all to myself. If I want to keep the lamp lit and write the night away, I can do it without fear of bothering Oona and Deirdre.

I wonder if they will miss me.

I wonder what Rand’s parents will say when he tells them I am living in the cottage.

I wonder if the morning will have me moving on again.

Please God—just let me stay.

“Have you lost your mind?” Ilene Prescott said, keeping her voice low enough so that the nosy servants wouldn’t overhear. She sat on the edge of an ivory-draped sofa in her formal living room and fingered the strand of pearls around her neck. The gaslight in the room made everything in the room seem soft—except for the hard lines of Ilene’s annoyed face.

Rand paced in front of the fireplace with a drink in his hand. “No, Mother, I haven’t lost my mind.”

“Don’t you think this is something you should have discussed with us first, Rand?” Charles asked. He lit a pipe, then flicked the match into an ashtray on an ornately carved table.

“I like to believe that you trust my judgment, Father,” Rand said.

“I just cannot reconcile Mother Helena asking the girl to leave the convent,” Ilene ruminated. “There must have been a reason, Rand. What did she do?”

“Believe me when I say the infraction was so minor, it boggles the mind.”

“Well?” Ilene lifted a brow.

“She was late for her curfew last night,” Rand said.

“I thought you left in plenty of time to get her back to the convent.”

“I misjudged the time,” Rand said. “In any event, Mercy believes, and I concur, that it was time for her to go. She didn’t really belong with the nuns.”

“I still don’t understand why this
girl’s
unfortunate circumstance has become your dilemma,” Ilene said. “I know you were just peeved with the notion that Mercy was a charity case, so you made your big declaration of love, but for goodness’ sake, Rand, we all know you cannot possibly entertain the idea of a future with her.”

Rand dropped his eyes to his drink. When he failed to look his mother in the eye, she audibly gasped.

“You are! You
are
thinking about a future with her!” she said accusingly, stabbing a finger in the air at him. “I was right—you
have
lost your mind!” She turned to Charles, who sat stoically puffing away on his pipe. “Well, Charles. Don’t just sit there. Don’t you have something to say about this?”

“Look, Son, you
are
putting us in an untenable situation here,” Charles said. “We know nothing about this young woman except for some very unusual details. It was fine you brought her home to dinner, took her to a few plays, and had a picnic or two—just like you’ve done with more young women than I can begin to count. But that’s where it needs to end.”

“Amen to that,” Ilene said succinctly. “Tomorrow you will help her find another living arrangement.”

Rand shook his head. “No, ma’am, I won’t. Ruby’s Cottage is partially mine, and I want her to stay.”

“Your grandmother is probably spinning in her grave to think of a complete stranger in her cottage,” Ilene said.

“Grandma Ruby had a bigger heart than the three of us combined,” Rand said, “and you know it, Mother. She would have been the first to take in a stranger if there was a need.”

“There are other women far more suitable for you, Rand. Cora, for instance …”

“I don’t want any other woman,” Rand said. “I want Mercy.”

“I forbid it,” Ilene said. “I forbid you to marry her.”

“Good heavens … what if she’s already married?” Charles mused. “She would be a bigamist! You cannot move forward with this relationship until her memory returns, Rand. You have to wait!”

“For how long, Father? How long is long enough for you to believe her memory is never coming back? One year? Two? Five? Because I will wait if I have to—but not because you want me to,” Rand said. “I’ll wait because Mercy won’t even discuss marriage with me. She doesn’t want to see me hurt—nor hurt anyone she doesn’t remember from her past.”

“Well, thank God for small favors,” Ilene muttered. “At least she has a brain.”

“Yes, Mother, she has a brain. She’s also funny, courageous, sweet, and beautiful …”

Ilene held up her hand. “Stop. Just stop extolling her virtues, because it doesn’t change anything.”

“I never dreamed you would be so narrow-minded,” Rand said.

“We have worked very hard to get what we have, Rand. Your father’s reputation is sterling—his work ethic incomparable. The Prescott name is synonymous with patriotism and the cause your father worked so hard to preserve. That young woman would embarrass you at every social occasion. She wore a common day dress to a dinner party, for heaven’s sake. She has no idea how to be the perfect companion to a successful young man.”

“Then help her,” Rand pleaded. “Who better to teach her how to be everything she is expected to be than you, Mother? Everyone in St. Louis admires your style, your grace—your eloquence when speaking. If you want to see me make a good match, then help Mercy become a proper lady!”

“And if she happens to wake up one morning and remember that she has a husband and a child or two tucked away somewhere? What then?”

“I don’t believe that is going to happen, but if it does, I will bow out gracefully,” Rand declared.

“And if I refuse to help?” Ilene asked.

“Then I will find someone else who will,” Rand said. “Mercy won’t have the benefit of the very best instruction, but at least she will learn the basic social graces. Maybe Ava Klein might help.”

“Ava Klein? Be serious, Rand,” Ilene scoffed. “Unless of course we are talking about Mercy entering a pie-eating contest.”

And with that statement, Rand relaxed. They spoke of logistics and a shopping trip, and he assured them again that he wasn’t going to rush into anything. His only intention was for Mercy to have a roof over her head in a safe place and for her to have the instruction of a cultured woman such as his mother. As he watched his parents retire to their respective bedrooms, Rand congratulated himself on winning the first round in his quest to make Mercy his bride. Now all he had to do was convince the girl.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

There was a sickle moon in the autumn sky tonight that appeared to be hanging by a thread. I noticed it after I made my trip to give Lucky his evening carrot. Then as the sky darkened, stars emerged in handfuls at a time—twinkling, sparkling—reflecting off the lake and teasing me into believing my past and future don’t matter, that only the moment I’m living in is important.

There are still things that bother me that I haven’t told Rand.

I hate a chiming clock. Hate it with a passion that makes no sense.

Sometimes Ezra rounds a corner and I have to bite back a scream.

I had to get rid of the silver-handled brush Rand gave me as a gift. It felt like a hot poker in my hand.

Still, I am happy. Happy to be living in this cottage, happy to have a bed to call my own at night, and happy to have Lucky to ride whenever the spirit moves me. I want to give in to it—the happiness—but there is something that lingers at the edges of my mind, and it tells me to be careful. That I’ve been happy before only to have it all come crashing down on me. It scares me more than I want to admit—because there is something else that I have to contend with now, and it makes things so much more complicated. Despite all my concerns and worries about the damage it could cause me, Rand, and people I don’t even remember—I’ve gone ahead and done what I said I wouldn’t do. I have fallen in love.

Mercy sat in the bow of the fishing boat and watched the muscles in Rand’s arms tense and relax as he rowed them farther and farther away from the shoreline. She snuggled into the shawl across her shoulders, and he stopped rowing for a moment. A crease of concern crossed his forehead.

“Too cold?” he asked.

She shook her head, causing the natural curls in her hair to dance with the motion. “No. I’m just perfect.”

He gave her a look that sent sweet chills up her spine. “That’s what I was going to say.”

She blushed at her choice of words. “I meant to say that the weather is just perfect—and I’m not too cold.”

Rand smiled, then found the familiar rhythm of rowing again. She tipped her head back to admire the steel-blue October sky.

“I think Mother Helena was right,” she said.

“About?”

“She said autumn would be beautiful. So far, it’s my favorite time of year.”

“Maybe you’ll say that about winter,” he said, securing the oars on the sides of the boat. She looked at him and smiled. “Maybe I will.”

“On the other hand, winters can be long and tiresome,” he opined. “Unless of course you have a project to keep you occupied.”

She felt the boat glide to a gentle stop and then held tightly to the sides as Rand carefully moved to sit on the seat directly in front of her. They swayed for a second before he reached out and enclosed both of her hands in his.

“Don’t you want to know what kind of project I’m talking about?” he asked.

She shook her head and tried to stifle her smile while she teased him. “No, since I’m fairly sure it involves some kind of sewing—quilting—needlepoint. Things I am terrible at and don’t particularly enjoy.”

“What if I promised you it doesn’t involve sewing needles of any kind but is something you can do during the long, dreary cold months? Something that will keep you busy—and before you know it, spring will be here.”

“I don’t need that kind of work, Rand. What I need is to find a way to make money. I can’t keep living off your family’s charity forever,” she said.

“It’s not charity,” he said.

She raised a brow. “Really? Maybe I don’t remember what the word
charity
means … is that what you’re telling me?”

“Mercy. Stop. We’ve been through this a hundred times.”

“I can see it all over your mother’s face,” Mercy argued. “The few times we’ve been together since I moved into Ruby’s Cottage, she looks at me as if I’m—I’m—a thief who has come into her life and stolen from her.”

He smiled. “The only thing you’ve stolen is her son’s heart.”

“Rand …”

“You can’t argue with the truth,” he said. “And it’s rude if you won’t even let me tell you about this project I’m so excited about.”

He was so handsome and so earnest looking; she couldn’t help it. She squeezed his hands. “Fine. What’s the project?”

Rand kept a grip on her hands. “I want you to take the winter to plan a spring wedding.”

It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in. She tried to pull her hands away, but he held on.

“I love you, Mercy. You know I do. Marry me, and make me the happiest man in the whole world.”

Quick tears filled her eyes, and she whispered her reply. “You can’t ask me that.”

“I just did,” he said. “Don’t you love me?”

She sighed and looked down at their hands, then nodded. “You know I do. Though I don’t have any right to.”

He reached over, tipped her chin up, and leaned closer. “You have every right to be happy. Every right to go on with your life. You don’t know if there is someone else or not.”

“But if there is …”

“There isn’t.”

“We don’t know that,” she said.

“But I
do
know. Because any man worthy of your love would never have let you go.”

He pulled a ring from his pocket, and she was helpless to stop him as he slid it onto her left hand. She looked down at the ruby surrounded by a ring of diamonds.

“It belonged to my grandmother Ruby,” he said.

Mercy couldn’t take her eyes off the ring. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Ruby was my father’s mother, Mercy. It was her cottage that you’re living in. She was strong willed and tender and energetic and courageous and very, very beautiful at one time. She married my grandfather when she was only sixteen, and they lived happily together for forty-five years until his death. Family meant everything to her. Everything. There is nothing she wouldn’t have done for us, and even now, five years after her death, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about her.”

Mercy looked from the ring to Rand’s face. “She sounds like she was a remarkable woman.”

“She was. But then, so are you. That’s why I’m asking you to be my wife.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have someone like Cora? Someone with a pedigree, an old family name, and a—a memory?”

“Marry me.”

“Rand.”

“Marry me.”

“But your parents …”

“Marry me, Mercy. Please.”

Mercy couldn’t help herself. She wanted him—marriage—children. A life where she wouldn’t constantly be looking back at the black hole of her past. Her memory seemed as gone as the day before—never to return—and there was nothing she could do about that. She did deserve some happiness … didn’t she?

“Well, I guess I
could
use a project to keep me busy during the long winter months that are coming up,” she said. Her face radiated joy. “I wouldn’t want to sit idly by the fireplace while the winds howl.”