Traces of Mercy (30 page)

“When?”

“Now. A woman is set to be hanged in front of Gratiot Prison at dawn day after tomorrow, and I need to stop it.”

Gordon shook his head. “You’ll never make it in time.”

“I need a fresh horse,” Elijah said. “Mine hasn’t had time to rest.”

“Neither have you.”

“I have to go,” Elijah repeated.

Gordon hesitated and nodded. “Fine. But I’m telling you, you’re never going to get there in time.”

“I have to try,” Elijah said. He gave the captain a curt nod and hurried out of the tent.

The evening of May second, Mercy realized that she wouldn’t be alive the next time the sun set. The thought made a small chink in the armor she had insulated herself with over the last couple of weeks, and she quickly pushed it away. They brought her a last meal—chicken and fried potatoes. Mercy wondered idly if anyone ever ate the last meal. She could no more swallow food than open the door of her cell and walk outside.

“Got some visitors,” the guard said, moving into her line of sight between the bars. Behind him were Mother Helena and Oona. Mercy stood and felt her reserve start to crumble. Mother Helena offered a small smile, then turned and gestured to someone else. Mercy watched Deirdre step reluctantly into view. The guard opened the cell and made a motion for them to enter.

“You got ten minutes, Sisters,” he said.

Mother Helena stepped into the eight-by-eight cell and opened her arms. Mercy rushed into them.

“I’m so sorry, child,” Mother Helena said in her musical voice. “So very sorry.”

“Thank you for coming, Mother,” Mercy said gratefully.

Mother Helena stepped back and took Mercy’s hands. “If this is to be your last night on this earth, then you need to make your peace with the Father. Ask for His forgiveness.”

Mercy’s eyes filled with tears. “Will He really forgive me for doing the things I did—for the things I planned to do?”

“Yes. It’s called grace, and He says all we have to do is ask,” Mother told her.

Mercy nodded. “I will.”

“Mercy?”

Deirdre stood in the corner of the cell, her face a mask of misery. “I have no right to ask, but please forgive me for what I did.”

Mercy hesitated, then heard Mother say, “In asking for grace, we also need to grant it.”

Deirdre walked toward her. “I should have never looked at your private journal or given it to Rand.”

“But you did.”

Deirdre’s eyes welled with tears. “Yes. I did. And I regret that more than I can ever say. I never thought … I never imagined that … this would happen.”

“She’s been tortured night and day since your conviction, Mercy,” Oona said in a voice husky with emotion. “She never meant for Rand to do anything with the journal other than break off his plans with you.”

Tears rolled down Deirdre’s cheeks. “I was jealous of what you had with Rand, but please believe me when I say I never wished you harm. Things got … so out of control.”

Mercy studied her. “I am sitting in this cell because of all the mistakes I’ve made. I’m the last person on earth to sit in judgment of someone else. If you need my forgiveness—you have it.”

Deirdre’s shoulders fell in relief. “Thank you. It means a great deal to me. I’m going home, but I didn’t want to leave until … until I had a chance to see you.”

“Home?” Mercy asked.

“I’m going back to Ireland,” Deirdre said. “I’m leaving the order. I’ve been lying to myself and everyone else about hearing God’s call.”

Oona stepped closer. “You will always be my sister in Christ, Deirdre. And you, too, Mercy. Always.”

“Three minutes, Sisters,” the guard called out.

Mother Helena pulled a chain from the pocket of her habit. “I brought you something,” she said, holding out the mercy medallion. “I found it with your things, and I thought you might want it, Mercy.”

Mercy ducked her head so Mother Helena could slip the chain around her neck. “Thank you.”

“We haven’t much time left,” Mother Helena said. “I’m a poor substitute for a priest, but if you’re willing, I will perform the sacrament of the last rites for you.”

Mercy nodded. Mother Helena held out her hand, and Oona placed a small vial of oil into her palm.

Oona and Deirdre bowed their heads. Mercy’s eyes met Mother Helena’s, and in them she saw nothing but compassion and love.

“Oh, Holy Host above, I call upon Thee as a servant of Jesus Christ, to sanctify our actions this day in preparation for the fulfillment of the will of God.”

Mercy concentrated on the lyrical sound of the nun’s voice, the words washing away the grime of her life, the moment tender despite the harsh surroundings.

Mother Helena continued, “Oh Lord, Jesus Christ, most merciful, Lord of the earth, we ask that You receive this child into Your arms …”

Tears ran down Mercy’s face.

“… that she might pass in safety from this crisis, as Thou hast told us with infinite compassion.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mercy whispered.

Mother Helena dipped her thumb into the vial of oil and made a cross on Mercy’s forehead. “By this sign thou art anointed with the grace of the atonement of Jesus Christ, and thou art absolved of all past error and freed to take your place in the world He has prepared for us.”

Elijah had been praying the same thing over and over since galloping away from Fort Wallace toward St. Louis. “Please, God, get me there in time.”

He’d traded horses at an outpost when stars still covered the dark, cloudless sky. And while he rode, he went over and over in his mind what could have happened. He had so many questions about how Mercy had come to be tried and convicted and he hadn’t even been subpoenaed. Surely she would have told someone about his part in all this—surely she must have told someone it wasn’t John Henderson she’d been after, but Elijah. She was certainly culpable for some of her actions, but to be convicted without all the evidence was a tragic ending to the situation, one he didn’t want on his conscience.

Dawn light filled the sky, and he pushed the horse even harder, hoping against hope that the animal would hold out until the end. Every muscle in his body ached, but the drive to get to St. Louis before the next sunrise was stronger than his fatigue. He pressed on.

Elijah didn’t slow the hard gallop of the horse until he hit St. Louis proper just as dawn broke on the morning of May third. He all but stampeded past the buggies and horse riders on the street and made his way toward Gratiot Street.

People must have gathered in the predawn light because the noise from the crowd in front of the gallows could be heard a block away. The celebratory air of the spectacle was something Elijah had never understood, but he knew without question that as long as there were public hangings, people would show up to witness them. He caught sight of the gallows built at least ten feet in the air with steps that led to the platform. The executioner was slipping a noose over the head of a black-hooded prisoner standing with bound hands and feet.

The air of excitement among the spectators rose to a crescendo as the executioner moved to the side of the platform and put his hands on a large metal lever.

“No!” Elijah yelled out, pulling hard on the reins of his horse and stopping short behind the crowd.

The executioner looked toward a man on the other side of the platform who dipped his head once.

“Stop!” Elijah screamed.

The lever sliced through the air.

Elijah saw every detail of the prisoner’s reaction: the shoulders tensed, the head thrown back as if the eyes under the hood wanted one more glimpse of the sky they would never see again.

“Oh, God, no,” Elijah called out.

There was a horrendous screech of a pulley.

The crowd roared in anticipation.

The prisoner did a quick dance in the air, bound feet trying to find purchase as everything solid went out from under them.

Elijah felt the air go out of his lungs at the same time the prisoner’s body jerked once beneath the space in the gallows.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
F
OUR

Sick to his stomach, Elijah stared in horrified disbelief. He had been too late to save her. Still on his horse, he watched as two men moved to cut her body loose from the ligature around her neck. A band started to play a hymn, and in his peripheral vision he was aware of a man moving through the crowd, selling paper cones filled with nuts.

She was dead, and Elijah wondered if there was something he could have done differently. Maybe he should have gone directly to Rand himself and not given Mercy a choice in the matter. It had proven to be too much for her, and for that he was sorry.

Elijah’s eyes moved over the crowd, even as he wondered what they were all still doing there when the barbaric show was over.

From his vantage point on the horse, he saw a nun making her way toward the gallows, weaving in and out of people until she stopped at the edge of the wooden structure. Elijah remembered the diminutive stature of Mother Helena, and even without seeing her face, he knew it must be her.

A ripple of excitement went up from the crowd again. Elijah rose out of the saddle, standing in the stirrups—looking behind the gallows to see guards leading another prisoner to the platform.

His jaw dropped.

Mercy!

It
was
her. She was still alive. He tried to move the horse through the crowd, but they weren’t budging. He bolted out of the saddle and started to elbow his way through the throng of people.

“Let me through!” he yelled. Some moved back out of deference to the uniform he wore. Some were so caught up in the excitement of the event they couldn’t even hear him.

“Move! Move!” he yelled.

He could see them leading Mercy up the wooden steps to the platform and was close enough now that he could see John Henderson standing on the side of the platform near two other men.

Elijah pushed and shoved people aside. “Out of my way! Let me through!”

Elijah kept his eyes on the platform—saw a look of some relief on Mercy’s face and followed her eye line to Mother Helena.

As he drew closer to the gallows, uniformed guards stepped into his path. “Sorry, Captain, no further,” one man said, putting a hand on his chest.

Elijah shook off the man’s hand. “Stop the execution!”

He tried to push forward, but another guard joined the first. He drew a weapon. “Stay back, Captain,” he said firmly. “We don’t want to fire on a soldier.”

“Five minutes,” Elijah said to the guard. Then yelled, “John! John Henderson!”

Elijah saw John turn and scan the crowd.

“John!” he shouted. This time John spotted him and said something to the man beside him before he hurried down the platform steps.

“Elijah? What’s going on?”

“You can’t let her hang!”

“She was found guilty of treason,” John said.

Elijah’s eyes flew to the executioner, who stepped up with a black hood to put over Mercy’s head. The man on the other side of the platform looked grave, serious. He absently pulled on the end of his thick black beard. Elijah recognized him as the governor of the state of Missouri, Thomas Fletcher.

“She tried to kill me, Elijah,” John said.

Elijah turned to him. “You’re wrong! Tell Fletcher to stop. Trust me.”

Tears streamed from Mercy’s eyes as the hood came down over her face. The crowd, equally excited and horrified, murmured their approval at the final steps before her death.

Elijah saw the executioner look toward Governor Fletcher—while John sprinted toward them both. Even though he had reached the bottom of the steps, Elijah could see that the congressman was going to be too late. Before the guards by his side could react, Elijah drew his pistol from a holster on his hip and fired it into the air.

People around him screamed. One of the guards grabbed him while the other took his gun. Elijah looked up in time to see John pleading his case. The governor looked at Elijah, and it felt as though it took forever before he looked back to the executioner and firmly shook his head.

Elijah sagged with relief at the gesture, and as he was being handcuffed, he watched the executioner roughly yank Mercy off the trapdoor. The crowd, incensed at being robbed of a death, booed and yelled toward the gallows. The guards tried to get Elijah to move away, to turn his back on the gallows, but he stood firm until he watched the hood be pulled from Mercy’s ashen face. He saw her confused eyes search the crowd for Mother Helena.