“What would they have you do instead?” Heston didn’t think it was right to pry into heavenly affairs, but he was very curious.
“I don’t know! I’ve never heard of someone failing their training. I might end up sitting on a cloud somewhere all by myself, plucking a harp and looking very melancholy.”
“No, I don’t think that’s how you’ll end up. Surely they’ll give you credit for your good intentions.”
“I hope so, but right now, I feel just miserable. You wouldn’t happen to have any butterscotches on you, would you? Butterscotches always make me feel better.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“That’s just terrible.” She held on to the railing and looked at the landscape as it went by. “I think I’m the worst guardian angel ever.”
“I doubt that. I really do.” He paused. “If you were hoping Mercy and I would meet up . . . How did you know about me before Mercy came to Creede?”
“Well, it’s like this.” Mrs. Maine turned back to face him. “Think about a dandelion puffball. The wind picks up the seeds and carries them dozens of different directions, and any one of them can land and create a whole new plant. That’s how possibilities are. A person’s life can have an infinite number of possibilities, and I was looking at Mercy’s and wondering which would actually take root, and . . .”
“I showed up on her list of possibilities? But that doesn’t make sense. She came to Creede because that’s where you sent the cows and where she was discovered. If the cows weren’t unloaded in Creede, she would have stayed on the train, ending up in Denver where she wanted to be in the first place. I wouldn’t have appeared as a possibility because we never would have met. Mrs. Maine, what aren’t you telling me?”
The angel once again looked ready to cry. “Maybe . . . maybe I chose you out on purpose. I took a look around at all the eligible young men the whole length of her journey, and you were so perfect for her, I just had to do something about it . . . and I’ve meddled far more than I was supposed to. I shouldn’t have gone husband hunting, and I shouldn’t have interfered with the cows, and . . . and . . . all I wanted was for Mercy to be happy because she deserves it.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at her reddened eyes.
“I’m a little confused . . .”
“So am I!” she wailed.
Heston reached over and patted her shoulder. He ought to be annoyed with her for the confusion with the cows, but at the same time, it was hard not to laugh. She was so sincere about what she was trying to do, and yet going about it so badly—how could he be angry?
“We’ll fix it,” he said at length. “I’ll send two telegrams at the next stop—one to Mr. Medina to tell him not to sell the cows, and the other to Mr. Yoder of Denver to see if he still wants the cows. Everything will get straightened out.”
“And . . . and I won’t get in trouble?”
“I can’t promise you that.”
She nodded. “I know. And I should be responsible and accountable and confess to all my wrongdoings. It’s the right thing to do. I just . . . I can’t believe I failed so horribly at my very first assignment.”
“Just how have you failed, Mrs. Maine? I’m taking Mercy to Denver, so you know she’ll arrive safely—that was your goal, wasn’t it?”
“That was the original goal, but then I started thinking about her ultimate happiness, and that’s where the matchmaking came in . . .”
“And you think you failed at matchmaking?”
She nodded. “You’re going back to Creede once you drop her off. That’s not romantic!”
Heston chuckled. “No, I suppose it’s not, but sometimes . . . sometimes things don’t happen overnight. Sometimes they need to grow and blossom.”
Mrs. Maine’s eyes lit up. “You mean there might still be a chance?”
“Well . . .” Heston didn’t want to get the angel’s hopes up because he didn’t want her to be disappointed yet again if things didn’t work out, but he also wanted to give her a bit of comfort. “I do have feelings for Mercy, and I believe she cares for me. If nothing else, we’ve become good friends, and that’s a very valuable sort of relationship to have.”
“But it’s not romantic!”
“No, it’s not, but it’s important.” He gave her shoulder another pat. “You said I was a good guardian angel for her—why don’t you trust me on this, and let’s see how everything works out? Don’t you believe that things end up how they should?”
“Of course. That’s because angels are there to guide them in that direction!”
“Surely not every good outcome is because of angels . . .”
She sighed. “All right, sometimes people make good choices on their own. But it’s nice to take the credit sometimes—we do work awfully hard, you know.”
“I have no doubt that’s true.”
After Heston was sure Mrs. Maine was all right, he went back inside and found Mercy, who was blinking rapidly and trying to stay awake. “There’s a hotel at the next stop,” he said. “Would you like to get off and we’ll catch another train in the morning, or would you like to stay on this train straight through to Denver?”
“Part of me wants to stay on the train and get there sooner, but I’m so tired. Let’s stay the night.”
Heston nodded, glad she’d made that choice. They’d each dozed off during the day, but it wasn’t the same as an actual good night’s sleep.
About thirty minutes later, the train pulled into the station, and Heston arranged to have their bags taken from the luggage car. The hotel had two small separate rooms available, and without even thinking about dinner, Mercy and Heston said goodnight. Things like food could wait until the next day—at the rate they were going, they’d probably fall asleep in their soup.
***
Mercy opened her eyes and stared at the wallpaper, trying to remember where she was and how she’d gotten there. Oh, that’s right—she was in a hotel halfway between Creede and Denver, and Heston was probably waiting for her right that minute. She scrambled out of bed and dressed, brushed out her hair and pinned it back up, then shoved her nightgown into her bag.
When she picked up her reticule, she noticed that it felt a little odd, heavier than it had before, and she dumped the contents out onto the bedspread. The little pouch Heston had given her for train fare seemed to hold something in it, but she’d emptied it the day before at the ticket booth. Loosening the drawstring, she looked inside and was bewildered to find more coins.
She stepped out into the hall with her things, pulling the door closed behind her. Heston had been waiting for her, leaning up against the wall, and he greeted her with a smile. “Great timing. I just got up myself.”
Mercy held up the pouch. “Where did you say this came from?”
“A friend gave it to me on your behalf. Why? Is something wrong?”
“What friend?”
“I . . .” He seemed uncomfortable, and that sent off alarm bells in her head. “They wanted to stay anonymous. What’s the matter?”
“It’s just . . .” Whatever she said was going to sound crazy, so she might as well just blurt it out. “After I bought my ticket yesterday, the pouch was empty. But now there’s money in it.”
Heston blinked. “Really? You’re sure it was empty?”
“I’m quite sure. I remember thinking how nice it was that the pouch held exact change for the ticket. And now—” She held it up and shook it, and the coins inside clicked together.
“I honestly don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t do it,” he told her.
“I didn’t suspect that you had—it’s been at my side this whole trip, and I’d know if you were rummaging through my things. But who? If you couldn’t have done it without my knowledge, I’d definitely notice a complete stranger hovering over me.”
Heston shook his head. “I have no idea. But we’ll be more careful.”
She agreed. She appreciated the extra money, but this was such a startling
way to receive it.
At the base of the stairs, Heston asked where he might send a telegram, and she waited while he took care of some things he said he’d forgotten back in Creede. Then they found some breakfast at a restaurant near the train station, gearing themselves up for another long day of travel.
“Our tickets are good all the way to Denver, so we don’t have to do anything more,” Heston told her after he’d set their bags on the platform.
“That’s good. The line at the ticket booth is so long—waiting would have been quite an ordeal.”
They milled around, making random conversation with the other passengers, and Heston chatted with the baggage handlers for a moment. Mercy smiled at his friendliness and ease with everyone, whether they were railroad workers or those riding first class. She wished she could be that way, able to find commonalities with a broader range of people. She felt intimidated by those with more money and struggled to find the right words.
She glanced down at herself, at the pretty dress Mrs. Olson had given her, and she realized that she looked like one of the wealthier passengers. No one needed to know that just a few days ago, she’d ridden in a stock car just inches away from piles of manure. No one needed to know that her childhood home had been little more than a drafty cabin with sheets tacked up on the walls to hold out the wind. Not one person on that platform knew one bit about her past, and she could rebuild herself to be anything she wanted to be. She’d known she could start afresh in Denver, but for some reason, it had never occurred to her that her transformation could happen sooner, before she ever reached the city. All she’d needed was the chance, and she’d been given every chance in the world over the last few days.
All thanks to Heston.
She found herself suddenly teary as she thought about it. Yes—she really could start over. Yes—she really could become someone new. Yes—she had friends now, people who genuinely cared about her as a person, as a soul of worth.
She wiped her tears away. They were happy tears, grateful tears, but they were tears nonetheless, and she didn’t want anyone to think she was sad on the most wonderful day of her life—the day she finally felt free.
The train pulled into the station, and everything went into a flurry. The baggage handlers pulled off trunks and parcels, replacing them with the things that had been lined up by the new passengers. There was a swirling rustle of skirts as women left the train and crossed the platform, weaving around each other so as not to collide, creating something that reminded Mercy of autumn leaves in a windstorm.
Movement caught her attention, and she looked to the side to notice a man slinking along the side of the train. His hat was pulled low over his face, his coat collar was turned up, and his steps were furtive. He kept his eyes on the railroad employees, inching forward only when they seemed occupied. The skin on his face was stretched tight, indicating far too many missed meals. His hands were bandaged, and she could only imagine the condition of his feet.
Mercy watched his progress with interest, also keeping an eye on the employees. She knew this man. No, she didn’t know him personally, but she knew his desperation, his story, his desire to find something better. She felt his angst and his urgency, and she wanted to cry for him.
So many tears that day when she rarely cried.
The man reached out to grasp hold of one of the handles on the train so he could pull himself up.
“Hey!”
One of the baggage handlers had caught sight of the man, and now he was chasing him down the track. There was a scuffle, and the stowaway ended up in the dirt with the baggage handler on top of him.
“Call the sheriff!” someone yelled as the man was brought to his feet, fighting against the arms that held him tight.
“Shameful,” said a woman on the platform. “Sneaking around like that, taking what doesn’t belong to him.”
“Probably hasn’t worked a day in his life,” her husband replied. “People like that spend all their time asking for handouts. They probably eat better than we do, what with all the charity they receive.”
“Shameful,” she said again, shaking her head.
Mercy was so angry, she felt as though her entire being was consumed with flames. How could those people stand there in their rich leather coats and their expensive shoes and cast judgment on someone who didn’t have those same opportunities? She looked around for Heston, badly wanting a hand to hold, but he was already at the scene, talking to the men who were apprehending the stowaway and trying to calm their anger. As much as she wanted him there by her side, he was in fact exactly where he needed to be.
And so was she.
She turned to face the couple who had been speaking. “I was once in that man’s shoes,” she told them. “I was desperate to get away from my situation, desperate for a brighter future—for my next meal. If you had seen me then, you would have judged me just as harshly as you’re judging him, but you don’t know his story any more than you know mine. I know his story, though, and because of that, I could never judge him. I can only love him because the road he has walked is far harder than any person living in a compassionate world should have to walk.”
The weight of her reticule suddenly hung heavy on her arm, and she smiled. She wasn’t angry anymore because she had a way to bring some hope and light into a dark moment. She remembered Patty’s kind face and Mrs. Olson’s gentle smile, and the vow she’d made to be like them someday. “I’m now going to give this man the kind of second chance that was given to me.”
She stepped off the platform and crossed the gravel until she stood before the stowaway. “What is your name?”
“Robby,” the man said, only looking up long enough to glance at her. “Robby Brown, miss.”
She turned to the baggage handlers. “Gentlemen, thank you for the excellent job you’ve done here today. I’m going to purchase Mr. Brown a ticket to his destination. Would you be so kind as to release him?”
The men looked at each other, then slowly backed away. “Yes, ma’am,” one of them said. “He’s free to go.”
“Thank you so much.” She reached into her pouch and pulled out some coins. “Would you mind running over to that little shop and collecting some sandwiches, enough for Mr. Brown and for all of the rest of you? You’ve worked hard—I’m sure you could use something to eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The man accepted the money and gave a nod, then trotted over to the shop she’d indicated.
“Now, Mr. Brown.” She gave him a smile. He stood motionless, his hat in his hands, staring at the ground. “Mr. Brown, please look at me.”
He lifted his chin, but he still couldn’t meet her eyes.
“I want you to go and have the most wonderful kind of life, do you hear me? Find new work, make new friends, and be whoever it is you dream of being. This is your second chance. Make the most of it.”
“I . . . I will, miss.” His voice was so low, she almost didn’t catch what he’d said. “I promise.”
“Good. Now, let’s go buy your ticket to . . . where are you going?”
“I thought I’d give Chicago a try, miss.”
Mercy cringed a little, wondering if she had enough money in her pouch to cover a ticket for that distance, but as soon as she had the worry, she was warmed by the thought that yes, there would be enough. “Come, then. Let’s buy your ticket to Chicago.”
As she passed the wealthy couple on the platform, she was tempted to glance their way and see their reactions, to see if they’d learned anything or if they were still being as self-centered as they had been before, but she kept her eyes straight ahead as she realized, she actually didn’t care what they thought.
Not at all.
Chapter Seven
Mercy snuggled back onto Heston’s shoulder, more content than she’d ever been before. She’d had the means to do some real good in someone else’s life, and she didn’t think she’d ever forget that heady feeling.
“You were amazing back there,” Heston told her
. “If you hadn’t stepped in, he would have gone to jail for sure—nothing I said was making any difference.”
“I’m just glad I was able to do something. Whoever my mysterious benefactor is, please thank them for me—I don’t understand this magical pouch of money, but I’m grateful for it.”
“Did it refill after you bought Mr. Brown’s ticket?”
“No, but I suspect it’s served its purpose. What time will we get to Denver?”
“Around eight o’clock tonight.”
“That will make for another long day.”
“It will, but it’s a day I get to spend with you, so it certainly won’t be wasted.”
What a nice thing for him to say. She turned and looked up into his eyes. They were soft and warm—just like they always had been, even when he’d caught her hiding on the train. He’d always been concerned about her welfare and wanted what was best for her. Who was this incredible man who had shown up in her life like a miracle?
As she studied his face, she realized a truth—something she’d known since she met him, but she’d pushed it aside because it was so unexpected. She was in love with Heston Granger. She loved the way his eyes crinkled and the way he looked at her when he talked to her. She loved the touch of his hand, the way his soap smelled when she leaned on his shoulder, and she loved the quality of his soul. She loved the way her heart sped up whenever he came near, and yet at the same time, how comfortable she felt with him. She loved him, she had since that first moment, and now that she’d had the realization, she didn’t know what to do with it.
As the day wore on, they did become a little bored, and the lady across the aisle lent Mercy a novel she’d just finished. Mercy held it open so Heston could see it too, and they read aloud to each other, her taking all the female dialogue and him reading all the male. It was a horribly sentimental romance with a dying heroine and her devoted hero, who was also her doctor, who lamented because he couldn’t save her. Mercy laughed so hard while she was reading that she had to wipe tears from her eyes. The trickiest part was keeping their amusement a secret from the lady who had been kind enough to lend them the book—she’d believed it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever read, and they didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
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