by Jana Petken
Belle was the epitome of what Mercy had always imagined an older sister to be: caring, affectionate, and protective.
Mercy thought about Julia often, but instead of picturing the closeness they had shared, all she remembered now was the coldness and disgust. Yes, disgust had been reflected in Julia’s eyes. Julia had saved her life, and Mercy would always be grateful to her for that, but Julia had also taught her that friendship could be fickle.
Mercy’s peaceful thoughts of Belle and her new life to come had been interrupted by memories she would rather forget. She rose from the bed and poured herself a glass of water, drinking every drop without pause.
She sat on top of the bunk this time with her legs crossed, elbows atop them and fists holding up her chin. Belle was not Julia. Belle was honest, and Mercy was drawn to that honesty. She remembered the moment she too had lowered her guard and had let the details of her life spring forth like gushing water. They had been sitting in Belle’s cabin, talking about England. Belle told her that she was not too fond of Liverpool but yearned to visit London, and then she had asked Mercy to describe the capital.
Belle now knew every tiny detail about her life, and Mercy wasn’t sorry, not one little bit. She had stumbled at first when describing the day of her birth, as told to her by Grandpa Carver. But because of Belle’s understanding, she no longer felt the shame that had followed her throughout her life. Mercy realised now that she could think about her parents without feeling she had to banish them into some dark corner of her mind.
Belle was the only person she’d ever met who had urged her to think kindly and fondly of Thomas Carver. There was no shame, Belle told her, in loving someone so much that you wanted to die with that person. She had added that she could not envisage living without Hendry and that she understood Mercy’s father’s anguish. Belle added that in her opinion, while the act of suicide was a selfish and cowardly act, the shameful act would be to marry a man or woman one didn’t love.
Mercy had then decided to tell her everything, from her secretly arranged marriage to Big Joe to the awful day at St Paul’s, when her life changed forever. Belle’s tears were comforting, as was her rage and, at times, disbelief. Mercy omitted the murder and fire from her story, for she believed that even Belle, the most understanding of people, would not want a murderess as a friend.
A tap on the door jolted Mercy from her thoughts, and she climbed off the bunk. Dinner was not for another hour or so. She prayed that nothing was wrong with Belle or the baby. She cracked the door open, hiding her body behind it, and showed just one eye to the person on the other side of it.
A crewman stood there and bowed slightly. “Good evening, miss. This note is from Mr Stone. He asked me to wait for your reply.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” Mercy told him.
She closed the door and leaned her back against it. Her heart was thumping at the mention of Jacob’s name. She had tried all day every day not to think about Jacob, yet he was always in her thoughts. She wanted to be near him, to gaze into his perfect face, to feel the strange vibrations that connected her to him somehow when he was near, and to hear his wonderful soft Southern drawl.
She understood Belle’s need for Hendry, for she felt the same way about Jacob. He had been distant since she’d been on board. She knew by his frequent absences from the dinner table that he had absolutely no interest in her. He was, as far as she could tell, going out of his way to avoid her.
She stared at the envelope and wanted to tear it open, yet she hesitated. She had no idea why Jacob would be writing to her. Being captivated by him was not a satisfying or pleasant feeling. She felt like a prisoner yearning for a guard to bring food to sustain her, though when he did, it was never enough. She was left wanting more. She found these new and intense feelings unnerving, for they were exactly the feelings Belle had described when talking about Hendry.
When Jacob was present, Mercy’s world lit up. Time flew so fast that she barely had time to live and enjoy the moment. There had been nights when he’d declined to have dinner with his family. She’d sat at the table, wishing for the conversation to cease, the meal to be over, and a quick exit in order to sleep and awaken the next morning with hopes of seeing Jacob on deck. She didn’t know if she loved him, but she did recognise that her insatiable need to be near him had led her on an unhealthy path that left her both mystified and frustrated.
She pulled herself up straight and mumbled angrily. She had once again let her mind wander and had left the poor man waiting outside. She pulled the note out of the envelope and took a deep breath.
My dear Miss Mercy,
Dinner has been cancelled. Belle and Hendry have decided to eat alone and retire early. I wonder if you would do me the honour of dining with me in my cabin. Dinner will be served at seven o’clock. I would very much like to talk to you.
I am at your service,
Jacob
Mercy’s hand shook as she once again cracked open the door. The crewman was standing patiently, and he bowed again at the appearance of her one eye.
“Please tell Mr Jacob I will be there on time,” she told him.
“Yes, miss. I’ll go tell him, and then I’ll come back and get you. A body can get lost here if it don’t know where it’s going,” he drawled in the now-familiar Southern accent.
Mercy thanked him, and he left. He was right. She didn’t know where Jacob’s cabin was. She had only been inside three cabins and had seen many more doors and stairwells to lower decks. It could be anywhere.
She took some deep breaths and ran to the small hand mirror. She picked it up and looked at her flushed face and dishevelled hair. There was no time to pin her hair up or paint her face, but there was time to pick out a gown and at least brush her hair into some order. She was going to eat with Jacob and might even be alone with him. She didn’t know what he wanted to talk about. Whatever his reasons, he had left her belly in a twisted knot and her whole body shaking like a blob of jelly.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jacob shuffled the plates and wine glasses around the small table for the umpteenth time, uncommonly nervous and unsure of what tonight’s outcome would be. Either Mercy would make him a very happy man or she would spurn his advances, in which case she would also destroy his dreams. He had thought about this moment the entire day. Would she accept his invitation? Would he have the courage to tell her that he loved her? The last thing he wanted to do was scare her or put her in a situation where she felt trapped. He was well aware that the last time she’d been alone with a man in a room was the night she’d been taken upstairs in the du Pont mansion. She never spoke about it. He had questioned Belle as to Mercy’s well-being, but Belle knew nothing – or if she did, she was not talking to him about it.
He’d fought Mercy every damn day, trying to avoid being too close to her, not wanting to look into those eyes or feel the blood inside him boil up when she was near him. No woman had ever gotten under his skin like this. Sure, women had brought out his primal urges. But Mercy? She had captured him, body, heart, and soul. He’d found the strength to do the right thing and stay away from her. He watched her from a respectful distance. But the time had come to lay his cards on the table and declare what was in his heart. He was man enough to admit that his initial feelings for her had not wavered – if anything, they had intensified.
She was more precious to him with each day that passed. The black rings around her eyes had gone, and the light in her eyes was brighter, if possible. Her cheeks had a healthy glow, and she had filled out, leaving the gaunt, haunted look behind in Liverpool.
He had also come to see her true character. She was lively and talkative. Even her voice seduced him with accent and words, which at times made no sense to him or anyone else on board. She was desperate for knowledge. Every time he saw her, she was holding a book in her hands like a prize possession. Belle urged Mercy to read and write – she’d had very little education and wanted to better herself, she’d informed Belle. She
was, as he’d always known, full of spirit and pride.
Jacob smiled. Mercy’s efforts to speak like Belle were amusing, but he suspected that her speech exercises were important to her. She’d admitted to all of them one night at dinner that she was happy to be leaving her country behind and didn’t care if she ever saw it again. Jacob wondered if Mercy’s desire to sound like a Southern woman was about her desire to fit in or if, in fact, it was an attempt to wipe out her past – one he knew nothing about.
Belle already loved Mercy, and for this reason, so did Hendry. Jack and Isaac were becoming fond of her natural good humour, her desire to be helpful to Belle in any way possible, and her genuine interest in America’s history. Mercy endeared herself to everyone because of her ability to laugh at herself, and her tinkering laughter was infectious.
Jacob poured some rich red wine into a small goblet and once again tried to make sense of his feelings. At first, he’d been intrigued by her silence. He’d felt a fatherly – no, he couldn’t say fatherly; he’d felt a brotherly need to protect her. Even brotherly was a stretch now.
He got up and paced to the door and back, and to the door again. He then sat at the table and moved the condiments a couple of inches to the right. The stakes were high. He had fallen in love with her, but she had given him no reason to believe she returned his feelings. When she looked at him, he felt an almost tangible connection to her.
Tonight he would know for sure. He had to know one way or another before the ship docked in Virginia. He would go through hell for her. He would take the inevitable shitstorm that would come knocking at his door. She would ruin his reputation, and he’d be cussed by all who knew him. He didn’t care. He finally admitted this too. He loved her, everything about her. He wanted her, not for a day, a week, or a year. He needed her in his life, for he sure as hell couldn’t imagine her not being in it.
Mercy Carver had stolen his heart. If she felt as he did, their union would destroy his relationships with some of the most affluent people in Virginia. Elizabeth’s Southern pride would be crushed. Her heart? He didn’t know what was in her heart. All he knew for certain was she was very happy at the thought of becoming mistress of Stone Plantation.
He knew Elizabeth well. She had the same lifelong ambition as all the other Southern ladies he knew. Their need for power and status was inbred. Her gaggle of brothers and bullish father would try to destroy him socially. But Stone Plantation was a force to be reckoned with, and the Stone family name was powerful in its own right.
Elizabeth and her family would not take kindly to being left at the altar, but he would accept their insults and attempts to excommunicate him from society. He would accept everything that life threw at him if Mercy was by his side – and if she returned his love.
Mercy arrived at exactly seven o’clock, dressed in a red silk gown that had tiny buttons from the square neckline to the waist. Her hair glistened with health and flowed to her waist in waves. Just a hint of red covered her lips.
Jacob opened the door and dismissed the crewman. He kissed Mercy’s hand. She gave a small curtsy, as she had been taught by Parker. “Good evening, Jacob,” she said.
“Hello, Miss Mercy. You look lovely,” Jacob said, ushering her inside. “I’m happy you decided to join me. It’s not much, just some cold meats and cheese. But the bread is fresh, and we can have a drop of wine. Does that sound good?”
Mercy smiled, trying to hide her nervousness. “It sounds lovely. I’m hungry,” she told him. As always, the sight of him sent her into a state of girlish stupidity. She hovered by the door and watched him pull the chair out for her to sit.
Once seated, she clasped her hands on her lap and followed him with her eyes until he sat down beside her. She suddenly wondered if she was up to the task of being alone with him. She hoped that he would do all the talking, at least to begin with, because she currently found herself without a single thing to say.
Jacob served the meat and poured red wine into her goblet. She looked at it for few seconds and then gulped it down in an attempt to settle her nerves. Her eyes watered. She spluttered and coughed as its warmth hit the back of her throat. When it had cleared, she apologised.
Jacob laughed softly and poured water into a glass. He handed it to her, still smiling. “Maybe you should wash that down with a little water. Wine can bite you when you least expect it. It can kick you like a mule. I don’t want to have to carry you back to your cabin.”
“It tastes so nice. Blimey, it’s as smooth as milk!”
He laughed again. “How are you? You look better. The ocean and salty air seem to suit you. Belle is sure happy to have you with her. Do you like my family?” The words tumbled out.
Mercy wondered which question she should answer first. “I do love this sea air. It’s so fresh and not at all like the smelly water in London. And I like your family very much. Everyone on board has been so kind to me. You look so like your brother, yet he’s very different.” After she’d pushed that thought through her mouth, she blushed.
“Oh?” Jacob said, raising an eyebrow and giving her a quizzical look.
“What I mean is … he’s quieter. He’s gentle – not that you’re not gentle. He just seems …”
“He doesn’t talk as much as I do? He’s not so loud? He’s more reserved? You’re probably right. I’ve noticed a change in him. But he wasn’t always the quiet one.”
“Tell me about him,” Mercy said, wanting to shut up.
Jacob sat back, deciding not to tell Mercy that Hendry used to be one of the biggest philanderers in the state of Virginia. He’d had every woman and whore in the Norfolk area in love with him, and he hadn’t minded spreading himself thin.
“Tell you about my brother? Hmm. Well, we’re close in age, and I consider him a good brother and friend. He loves the sea. He’s good at what he does, and he’ll make a great father. When I look at him now, I see a contented man who doesn’t want for anything as long as Belle’s by his side. He reminds me of my mother. Hendry and I were youngsters when she passed, but I remember that she was loyal. She loved my father to distraction.
“Hendry is a lot like her in many ways. But don’t be fooled. I don’t believe you are seeing the same Hendry I saw a year ago. Even I am seeing him in a different light on this voyage.”
“Why?” Mercy asked.
“Well, for starters, he has Jack to share the load of captaincy. He’s tired, although he won’t admit it. Two years at sea is a long time, and he’s desperate to get Belle home. I believe this baby will be good for both of them. Rest and some time on land is just what they both need. I’m happy to have them at Stone Plantation – it’ll be like old times.”
“They’re very much in love, aren’t they?” Mercy said.
“Yes, they are. Hendry would never admit this to anyone, but I saw them both on the day they met, and I think my brother was smitten by Belle after one conversation.”
“Do you think love can happen that fast?” Mercy asked.
“Yes, I believe it can. You only have to look at them to know that they’re meant to be together. Maybe God has a divine plan for all of us.”
“What do you mean?” Mercy bit her lip.
“I’m not an overly religious man, but I believe that a higher power has a hand in mapping our lives, to a certain extent. I don’t think we’re meant to journey through life alone,” Jacob said honestly. “I think Hendry and Belle are two halves of a dollar bill – together they’re rich, but apart their lives are worth nothing. Have you ever been in love, Mercy?”
Mercy laughed, but it was a sardonic, bitter sound. “No. I was not allowed to meet boys or go out with them for walks or picnics like the other girls in my neighbourhood. My grandparents kept me at home most of the time. I would have got a right slapping if I’d mixed with boys my age.”
Jacob’s face was filled with confusion. Mercy could almost hear his thoughts. She’d told him that she had no family.
Mercy stared at her food and wondere
d what Jacob would think about her if he knew the truth about Big Joe, her grandparents, her mother and father. She took a bite of cheese, aware of Jacob’s eyes on her. She would have to tell him. Belle already knew – he might already have been told. “Jacob, I lied to you. I do have a family, of sorts.”
“Tell me,” Jacob urged with soft encouragement.
Mercy began by telling Jacob about her parents and about what happened to them on the day she was born. She spoke about her grandparents’ secret dealings with Big Joe, leaving nothing out. When she finished speaking, Jacob was holding her hand and she was wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye.
She looked at his fingers entwined with her own and realised she had been so consumed by her story that she’d missed the moment he’d reached out and touched her. She pulled her hand away and picked up her fork as an excuse to free it. His touch was overpowering, and his pity was unbearable. She failed to see the hurt in his eyes and said, “Jacob, please don’t pity me. Everything has a place, and my story belongs to the past. I won’t forget where I come from. I’m not ashamed of being poor. I don’t hate my father for abandoning me. But I am sorry I lied to you about not having any family. Please forgive me. I couldn’t let you send me back to London – I just couldn’t.”
Jacob nodded. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between them.