Traces of Mercy (19 page)

“Gentlemen, I’m turning in,” she said, stifling a yawn.

“It’s still the shank of the evening, darling,” John replied with a small smile. “Are you getting so old and decrepit you are bounding into bed before nine?”

Elijah lifted his brows at his host’s teasing. “My, my, what a brave man you are.”

Mary also lifted a brow at her husband. “Or a very foolish one.”

John chuckled. “I’d say I’m a little of each.”

“And I’d say that I’ve been up since long before sunrise, and unless you want a very grumpy, cantankerous, and decrepit old wife, you’ll bid me good night and good sleep right now,” Mary said, moving to kiss her husband’s cheek.

“Good night and good sleep,” John said with affection.

“Good night, Mary,” Elijah said.

“Don’t keep him up too late, Eli,” Mary said with a smile. “He’s the one whose knees creak when he stands.”

“You have my word,” Elijah promised.

Mary headed out the study door.

“Speaking of looking foolish,” Elijah ventured, “what do you make of Rand Prescott’s girl putting us all to shame on the hunt line today?”

John took a sip of his brandy and stared into the fire. “I don’t suppose you would say it was beginner’s luck?”

Elijah shook his head. “Not a chance. It was out-and-out skill that bagged those birds.”

John nodded, thoughtful. “It’s fairly obvious she’s had some kind of training. I’ll admit some people are natural-born hunters, but it’s rare to see a woman take to it so spectacularly.”

“What do you know about her?”

“Only what I’m sure my wife has already told you,” John said. “I do have to take my hat off to her, though. All the women that I’ve seen Rand with in the past couple of years—and she’s the one who got him to propose. That, in itself, speaks volumes.”

“He’s been a bit of a ladies’ man, eh?”

John lifted a corner of his mouth in a half smile. “He does have the pedigree to make a good catch. Family money, respectability, good looks, charm when he wants to use it. His father will undoubtedly hand down the reins of the railroad empire he’s built someday—and Rand will go on to follow in Charles’s substantial footprints.”

“So for a girl with no memory, she’s done all right for herself.”

“I’d say so.”

“And no one seems to question the validity of her claim,” Elijah said.

“What do you mean?”

Elijah leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, his eyes filled with speculation. “I’m not exactly sure—it just seems so risky for someone of Prescott’s affluence to take a chance on someone with no past. Added to that is the fact he can’t know for sure if she’s telling the truth about her amnesia—or has just concocted the whole story.”

“Charles told me the young lady had been left at a clinic across town. It was the doctor who treated her that offered the amnesia diagnosis,” John said, “and frankly, Eli, unless you’ve had your judgment clouded during the war, surely you’ve noticed that Mercy is a true beauty. I would think someone like that would have dozens of young men swooning at her feet. Why hide who she is to capture Rand’s attention?”

“Unless if who she
really
is … would prohibit the relationship?”

Intrigued, John frowned. “To what purpose?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. But it would be interesting to find out.”

Elijah went back to the beginning of Mercy’s time in St. Louis. At least the beginning anyone knew about. He walked through the door of Abe Johnson’s clinic and found the older man with his eye pressed to a microscope.

“Hello? Doctor Johnson?”

Abe didn’t immediately look up. Instead, he raised a finger in the air, keeping his eye on the lens.

“One minute,” Abe said.

“All right,” Elijah said, unsure if he should venture farther into the room or just stay put. Seconds ticked away, then a full minute, and still the doctor stayed bent over his microscope.

“Ah, maybe I should come back another time?” Elijah said.

Abe jerked, then straightened and looked at Elijah. “Forgive me. I completely forgot you were there.” He rubbed his eyes. “Fascinating, fascinating things to be seen on the slide under magnification,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe how one single drop of blood can keep me spellbound.”

Elijah smiled. “I might.”

“What may I do for you, Captain?” Abe asked, after taking note of the rank on his uniform.

“I’m Elijah Hale,” he said. “I’m looking for some information about a former patient of yours.”

Abe went to a washstand and dipped his hands in the water. “What patient would that be?”

“A young woman with amnesia,” Elijah said. “Do you remember her?”

Abe wiped his hands off on a towel and turned to look at his visitor. “Of course I remember her. A most fascinating case.”

“I have a few questions about her,” Elijah said.

Doc frowned. “It’s one thing to say I know her, but quite another to discuss her with you. Can you tell me what this is about?”

“Mostly it’s about satisfying my own curiosity,” Elijah admitted. “I met the young lady at her engagement party …”

Abe smiled broadly. “Yes, yes. I heard she’d gotten engaged to Rand Prescott. Fine young man. Fine family.”

Elijah nodded. “I heard her … story … and naturally I found it compelling, as I’m sure so many others have.”

Abe narrowed his eyes. “Yet no one else has come here to talk to me about her. Not even her intended. Is this a military matter?”

Elijah shook his head. “No, sir. As I said, I’m here strictly out of curiosity. I’ve never met someone who claims to have amnesia.”

Abe raised his brows. “Claims? You speak as if you don’t believe her.”

“You do?”

Abe rubbed absently at one of his eyebrows. “Unequivocally.”

“So you’ve seen cases of this condition before?”

“No. Not personally. But I will tell you that I’ve done thorough research on the subject, and Mercy is a textbook case.” The doctor shook his head. “If you could have seen the panic on her face that day she woke up and realized she had no idea what her name was … where she came from … anything in her past. She was scared to death. Afraid to even glance in a mirror. The poor girl had no inkling what she looked like.”

“Beautiful.”

Abe nodded. “Yes—even then with a man’s haircut.”

Elijah felt a twinge of unease. “Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Cut just as short as mine. In fact, the fellows who brought her into my place here thought she
was
a man.”

“Not to be indelicate,” Elijah said slowly, “but the woman in question looks nothing like a man.”

“She was dressed as a man. Even had her, ah, attributes hidden by some heavy binding,” Abe said. “Of course, the reason for that was as elusive to her as the rest of her history.”

“May I ask what you treated her for? Besides the amnesia?”

“Bumps, bruises, contusions,” Abe said, “and a gunshot wound to the back of her leg.”

“Don’t you find the whole thing odd?”

“I find a great many things odd, Captain. I find it odd that we just finished a bloody war that sometimes pitted brother against brother. That I live in a land where the president was shot while attending the theater. That I can look at a drop of blood under a microscope and tell a great many things about the person it came from.” Abe sighed. “Is her situation odd? Yes, I suppose it is. But it doesn’t stop me from wishing her well and hoping she has a wonderful life despite her handicapped memory.”

“I was told she only spent a couple of weeks with you,” Elijah said.

“That’s correct. When she was well enough, I brought her to the Little Sisters of Hope. Mother Helena and the sisters took her in and helped give her a fresh start at life.”

Elijah thanked him for his time and headed for the door.

“Captain?”

Elijah turned. “Yes?”

“I hope that this curiosity of yours won’t lead to a disruption of the life that Mercy is trying to forge for herself.”

“I hope not either.”

The Little Sisters of Hope Convent was not at all what Elijah expected. The only thing that did seem to fit was the large wooden cross on the roof of a building that looked more like a farmhouse than the home of an order of nuns. In the back of his mind he had expected the place to be quiet, orderly, maybe even with a reverent air about it. But after he had knocked several times, the nun who opened the door looked more disheveled than holy—more irritated than welcoming.

“Yes?” the woman asked. “May I help you?”

Elijah slipped the hat from his head. “I’m Captain Hale, Sister …”

“Sister Agnes.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sister Agnes. I wonder if I may speak to the … nun in charge. Uh, Sister …”

“That would be Mother Helena,” she said.

“That’s right,” he said, more to himself than to her. “May I please speak to Mother Helena?”

“She’s a little busy right now,” Sister Agnes said.

“It’s important,” he insisted.

She nodded. “Come in. Follow me.”

He entered the austere common room and felt for a moment as though something finally fit his imagination. Then he heard the noise coming from the back of the place and lifted his brows.

“We’ve recently become an orphanage,” Sister Agnes explained as they made their way toward a definite ruckus. “And we’ve yet to find the fine line between letting children express themselves and letting children run rampant. Right now they are having a lesson in bed making.”

“Sounds like a noisy lesson,” he observed.

Sister Agnes nodded, her jowly cheeks bouncing a little with the effort. “Mother Helena believes in fun with the lessons. She’s made a contest of it. The little mites are competitive, I’ll give them that.”

They entered the back of the house, a seemingly new addition where all the beds were set up in neat rows and the children were in some form or another rushing to pull sheets taut, spread quilts just so. The bigger ones helped the littles. And in the center of the room stood a diminutive nun who was calling out instruction like a coach at a game.

“That’s the way, Frankie! Pull it up—smooth the corner! No, no, no, Matilda! You have a lumpy middle there! See it?”

“Mother?” Sister Agnes said over the children’s squealing. “This is Captain Hale. He’d like to speak to you.”

Mother Helena turned and swept her eyes over Captain Hale. “Captain Hale? What might I do for you?”

“I’m here to inquire about a young woman you had staying here,” he said. “Her name is Mercy.”

A little boy jumped up onto his bed, and Mother Helena shook her head. “Thomas! Off the bed, child! That won’t do at all!” She looked at Elijah. “Are you someone from Mercy’s past?”

“No. I am a friend of a friend of her future husband’s family.”

Mother Helena frowned. “And they asked you to speak to me about her?”

“No. I’m here on my own.”

A feather pillow slammed into Elijah. He snagged it, and Mother Helena fixed a stern look on the young girl who had pitched it like a ball.

“Marie. We don’t throw things indoors.” But when she turned back to Elijah, he could see a twinkle in her eye. “I am not in the habit of discussing others, Captain Hale. I suggest if you have questions, you go straight to the source. Go see Mercy.”

Her eyes swept around the room. “Stop!” she said loudly, holding up her hand. The children all froze in place. She held the suspense for a moment, then said, “Kathryn is the winner this time.”

A little girl in braids grinned broadly, and the other children groaned. “Let us start again!” Mother Helena said.

The kids gleefully ripped the covers back off their beds and began a new race to make the perfect bed.

“It seems to be the general consensus that the amnesia Mercy is suffering from is real,” Elijah said over the din of the children, trying to bring the nun’s attention back to the topic.

Mother Helena looked at him. “I wasn’t aware that it was a question.”

“So you believed her?”

“Haven’t I made that clear?”

“I don’t believe anything about her is clear,” he said with a touch of frustration in his voice. “I was told she lived here but then was asked to leave.”

“Tuck the sheet in at the bottom, Lois,” Mother said. “Martha—help Lois, please!”