by Jody Hedlund
“No, ma’am, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong,” Mercy rushed to explain. “We’re friends and that’s all. I promise—”
“Mercy,” she interrupted. “I may call you Mercy, may I not?”
“Aye, ma’am.”
“And you’ll call me Velva.”
“Oh no, ma’am. It wouldn’t be right. Not right at all. I couldn’t.”
“Nonsense. We’re two equal women. Let’s put away the formalities.”
Mercy could only stare at Mrs. Moresby, who dwarfed her in size, especially with her overlarge hat and puffy garments, which only added to her height and girth. While the woman should have been intimidating, something in her eyes beckoned Mercy to trust her. In some ways, Mrs. Moresby reminded her of Joseph—his warmth and acceptance and his wish to put aside formalities.
What did Mrs. Moresby mean about Joseph not being able to take his eyes off her? And being in love with her? The woman had to be imagining things.
Mercy peeked sideways in Joseph’s direction. He was still talking with the other men on his team. He wasn’t paying her any attention.
“He’s watching you, even though he’s acting like he’s not,” Mrs. Moresby said. “You do know he purposefully threw that ball your way so he’d have an excuse to come over to you.”
“No, ma’am. He didn’t.” Mercy started to panic. Where was this conversation headed? Had Mr. Scott told the matron about Joseph’s shipboard proposal? What if Mr. Scott had asked Mrs. Moresby for help with finding Mercy a husband?
“You’ve no need to worry, ma’am,” Mercy said. “I told Lord Colville no.”
Mrs. Moresby’s eyebrows rose. “No to what?”
“I’m not fit to marry a man like him,” Mercy continued rapidly. “I’d embarrass him and cause him all kinds of problems, to be sure.” Not to mention the shame she’d cause the Columbia Mission Society, as well as the trouble she’d bring to Mr. Scott.
Mrs. Moresby started to rapidly fan herself again. “My, my, my, it’s no wonder Lord Colville is ready to tear to pieces any man who looks your way.”
Mercy shook her head in denial, though a part of her wanted it to be true. Joseph hadn’t been pleased with all the attention the men were giving the women yesterday after disembarking. Was he a little jealous?
The other women were beginning to stroll back to the Marine Barracks. Mrs. Moresby stuffed her fan back into her reticule, then tucked her hand into the crook of Mercy’s arm. “Come. Walk with me, Mercy.”
Even if Mercy could have pulled herself free from the woman’s strong grip, she was too intimidated by Mrs. Moresby’s forcefulness and frankness to do anything but try to keep up with the woman’s long strides.
“When I arrived to Vancouver Island fifteen years ago, I came as a servant to Mrs. Archibald, wife to one of the commanders of Fort Victoria when it was still under the control of Hudson’s Bay Company.”
At Mrs. Moresby’s admission, Mercy nearly tripped.
From beneath the array of flowing ribbons, the matron smiled at Mercy’s reaction, as if she enjoyed shocking people with her story. “I never was a lady and still make no claim of being one.”
“But you look and sound just like one.”
Mrs. Moresby chuckled and patted Mercy’s arm. “I married a very wealthy man, Mercy. Mr. Moresby made his fortune in the fur trade. He was, and still is, one of the richest men in Victoria.”
Mercy allowed the woman to pull her along and attempted to digest the revelation.
“I understand you better than you think I do,” Mrs. Moresby said with another pat. “Of course, Mr. Moresby isn’t a nobleman like Lord Colville. Nevertheless, he’s a very important man in the colony.”
Mercy tried to picture Mrs. Moresby as a servant, but she couldn’t imagine the woman without her colorful gowns and flamboyant hats. While they walked, Mrs. Moresby relayed the story of how she met her husband at a party the Archibalds hosted. They’d developed a friendship that eventually blossomed into love.
“So you see, Mercy,” she said as they reached the door of the Marine Barracks, “we don’t have to settle for a certain way of life just because that was what we were born into.”
The very idea of socializing with women like Mrs. Moresby and the other members of the committee only frightened Mercy. She would have counted herself lucky to be a servant to such women, and never in a hundred years would she consider the possibility of becoming one of them.
“You’ve already started the journey to a new life by coming here,” Mrs. Moresby continued. “It took a great deal of courage and strength to leave your family and country of birth behind.”
The other women were passing them and entering the barracks, but Mercy wasn’t in a hurry to part ways with Mrs. Moresby. Though the conversation was startling, Mercy wanted more. For a reason she couldn’t explain, Mrs. Moresby’s revelation and encouragement gave her hope.
“Just because you’ve arrived to Vancouver Island doesn’t mean you have to stop your journey to a new life.” Mrs. Moresby once again removed her handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed her forehead with it. “In fact, our whole lives are going to be filled with challenges, and our job is to keep growing and seeking after what God has next for us.”
Mrs. Moresby’s admonition sounded like something Patience would say.
“Don’t get stuck, Mercy. Don’t get stuck thinking you don’t matter or you’re not important enough. I know for people like us who come from lowly backgrounds, we all too often accept our place at the bottom and think that’s where we belong. But that’s just not true. God didn’t create some people to be better than others. He created everyone to have equal value.”
Mrs. Moresby’s words were unlike anything Mercy had ever heard. She supposed here in the colony, away from the motherland, people were free to create a new life, to think differently, to break away from the customary ways of relating. Clearly, Mrs. Moresby had done so with her life.
And yet Mercy wasn’t certain she could do the same or even if she wanted to. For so long, all she’d thought about was survival, for herself and for those she loved.
Mrs. Moresby patted her hand as though to encourage her to accept everything she’d just shared.
Mercy gave a brave nod, but inside she trembled. Mr. Scott’s reminders for her to stay in her place were much more familiar, much easier to accept. But what if Mrs. Moresby was right? Was there more to her life than she’d believed possible?
Mercy stood behind the closed door of the kitchen. Mr. Scott had already called her several times, letting her know the men were lined up outside and ready to meet with her in the parlor. However, she couldn’t get herself to move.
She’d considered tracking down Ann or one of the other girls from her cabin and asking them to hide her somewhere. She missed them all so terribly. After spending nearly every waking minute with the orphans over the past three months, she felt empty, almost purposeless today without them.
Her conversation with Mrs. Moresby following the cricket game kept coming back to her. What did God have next for her? Was it marriage to one of the men waiting to meet with her? Could she resign herself to taking a husband in order to stay in Victoria? Or did God have something else in mind?
What if it were possible for Mercy to find nursing work? She didn’t have any official training, but she’d learned a lot from Joseph during the voyage. Surely she could be of some use at a hospital or maybe by assisting one of the local doctors.
She shook her head. Why would anyone let her help with nursing others? She was a nobody here.
“Mercy?” At the soft tread of footsteps entering through the back kitchen door, Mercy spun to find Miss Lawrence carrying in a pail of water. “What are you doing in here?”
Mercy had half a mind to ask Miss Lawrence the same thing. What was a gentlewoman like her doing in the kitchen? She’d come from a home and life where she had servants to run her kitchen and had likely never been in one in all her life.
�
�I thought you were meeting with your callers,” Miss Lawrence said. “They’re lined up outside the front door, down the stairs, and across the yard.”
My stars . . . Mercy closed her eyes against the image and tried to tell herself they weren’t all there to see her. A couple of the other poor women from the bride ship were also having visitors.
“’Tis very exciting,” Miss Lawrence continued, stepping farther into the kitchen. “Didn’t I tell you that you would have plenty of suitors?”
“I wish I didn’t have any.” The words were out before she could bite them back. Her eyes flew open to see Miss Lawrence studying her face, her head tilted and her brows arched.
“What I meant to say is that I wish I didn’t have any tonight. It’s so soon—”
“Mercy,” Miss Lawrence interrupted, lowering the heavy pail to the floor. “It’s perfectly normal to be frightened. I am as well.”
“You are?”
“I am positively terrified.”
Mercy sagged against the door and stared at Miss Lawrence. Always reserved and proper without revealing her emotions, the young woman’s quiet admission was out of character.
As if recognizing the same, Miss Lawrence reached for the pail, turning away from Mercy’s scrutiny.
Mercy wished she had the nerve to ask Miss Lawrence what she was afraid of, guessing that whatever had hurt her in England still haunted her.
Miss Lawrence crossed the room to the stove, where she made slow work of pouring the water first into one pot, then another.
“At least here we get to choose who we want to marry,” she said after a moment, her back to Mercy.
Did that mean Miss Lawrence hadn’t been able to choose for herself back home? That she’d been forced to be with a man she didn’t want?
Before Mercy could figure out how to frame her question, Miss Lawrence spun around, a tight smile in place. “Take your time tonight. Get to know the men. I have no doubt you will find the husband of your dreams.”
The husband of her dreams? There was only one man she’d ever dreamed about, and that was Joseph. But he could never be her husband. And they both knew it.
“Mercy Wilkins!” Mr. Scott called from the hallway, his tone edged with irritation. “You must come at once. Your first suitor is already waiting in the parlor.”
Miss Lawrence nodded, her smile growing wider and more genuine. “Go. Before Mr. Scott comes in here and gives us both a sermon.”
Mercy knew she ought to respond to the gentlewoman’s attempt at a jest. But she couldn’t muster the energy, even to smile, because she knew Mr. Scott would give her much more than a sermon if she didn’t follow through with the interviews. He’d give her a one-way ticket back to England.
“I shall pray for you,” Miss Lawrence added.
“Thank ye, miss.”
Trying to keep her hands from shaking, Mercy opened the kitchen door. The clamor at the end of the hallway and in the open front door came to a halt. With at least a dozen pairs of eyes upon her, including Mr. Scott’s, Mercy walked quickly to the parlor, entered, and crossed to the open chair opposite her first guest.
She sat down on the edge, folded her hands in her lap, and made herself acknowledge the stranger sitting across from her.
He was well groomed with a clean-shaven face and neatly combed hair. When he offered her an excited smile and began to speak, she could even acknowledge that he was somewhat good-looking and even slightly charming.
The trouble was that he wasn’t Joseph. No one would ever be able to come close to Joseph. Not even if she met with every single man in the entire colony.
twenty-nine
Joseph flipped over in his hotel bed, the frame squeaking under his weight. The night was dark without moon or starlight or even streetlamps to provide the slightest glow. The darkness pressed in on him, suffocating him as much as the blankets that tangled around his body.
Although he’d fallen into a fitful sleep for a few hours, he’d awoken to the rapid beat of his heart and the urgency that had been building in his chest all day. And now he could do nothing but toss and turn, growing only more awake and more agitated with every passing second, especially as he reviewed his day.
A medical emergency had detained him from joining Lieutenant Verney aboard the HMS Grappler for the regatta. One of the local surgeon’s assistants, Charlie Danbury, had called upon him to aid in a complicated surgery on a miner who’d been knocked over the head in a tavern brawl. A bottle of rum had been shattered against the man’s skull, leaving a long sliver of glass embedded in his head.
Joseph wanted to help, for he knew the surgery would be more successful with the two of them working together and combining their medical knowledge and skills. And thankfully he and Charlie were able to remove the shard of glass without losing the patient.
As a result of the surgery, however, he’d not only missed the regatta but also part of the cricket game. By the time he arrived at the town green, the match was well under way and he hadn’t been able to figure out how best to meet with Mercy in private. She was surrounded by the other women, and even when he’d overthrown the ball in her direction, all eyes turned upon them. Certainly not the place to have a conversation with her.
Afterward, he’d wanted to race after her, take her hand, and stroll next to her. But his teammates had him hedged in. By the time he realized Mercy had left, a chaperone was at her side and any hope of speaking with her privately had vanished.
Later, when evening came and Mercy had begun her appointments with the men, Joseph stood outside the Marine Barracks hoping and praying he’d be admitted, even though his name wasn’t on the list to visit with the women who were accepting callers. He’d considered announcing his title and pushing his way through, yet the miner’s statement from the previous day had humbled him. “If you think you can come here with all your highfalutin ways and start ordering us about, well, you got another thing comin’.”
For all his talk of being fair and not letting social status stand in his way, he wasn’t above taking advantage of his aristocratic position whenever it suited him. And while he’d been tempted to barge past the other men and shoulder his way inside the building, he held back.
With each passing moment, and with every new man who sat in the armchair across from Mercy, Joseph’s stomach had clinched tighter with desperation. If only he’d been able to read her expression to know what she was thinking—to see for himself if this parade of men was what she wanted or not. Then he could be on his way and would never bother her again.
Unfortunately, Mercy was positioned in the parlor so that her back faced the window, leaving Joseph with nothing but his intuition to determine her state of mind. And his intuition warned him that something wasn’t right, that he needed to see Mercy and find out the truth about what she really wanted for her future.
Even now, he still couldn’t reconcile the fact that she was meeting with men and planning to choose a husband by this evening. Why?
As he had on the ship, he wondered if he was like Jonah in the belly of the fish? Certainly Jonah had been confused, frustrated, and a little hopeless. Nothing felt right anymore, not the journey to Vancouver Island, not his doctoring, not his relationship with Mercy, and not his plans to continue on to the Hawaiian Islands.
He sat up in the bed, untangled from his covers, and slid to the floor to his knees. “What do you want from me, God?” Bowing his head in his hands, the empty ache in his soul reminded him of the day Dr. Bates had come to him with the news that his family was dead. His old friend had laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, his eyes brimming with tears behind his spectacles.
A storm had raged to life inside Joseph, one that threatened to tear him apart. But instead of letting the storm take its natural course, instead of grieving his losses, he ran from his room and didn’t stop until he’d reached the cricket field. Once there, he threw himself into a game and had played so hard that eventually he had to force himself to leave.
E
ver since that day, Joseph hadn’t stopped running. Though he didn’t want to admit that Bates and Aunt Pen had been right, he could no longer deny he’d been running away from home so he could escape the painful memories that haunted him there.
Perhaps he was running away from Mercy too. Despite his excuses for not talking to her all day, maybe he was simply afraid of the finality of her rejection—of learning that she wasn’t opposed to marriage, just marriage to him.
Even worse was the possibility that he’d easily accepted her rejection to his proposal on the Tynemouth because he was afraid. If he didn’t allow himself to love Mercy, then he wouldn’t have to worry about losing her the same way he’d lost his family.
Indeed, it would be easier to leave, forget the pain, and bury the hurts rather than to stand firm. It would be easier to cut Mercy out of his thoughts rather than to dwell on what he was losing. And it would be easier to move on with his life, sail to the next destination, and find new sights with which to distract himself.
And yet could he ever really move on? He’d traveled all over the world and the pain of his family’s death followed him everywhere. He suspected the same would happen if he ran from Mercy. The pain of losing her would follow him too.
“God,” he prayed, “I’m sorry for running—especially from you.”
Dragging in a deep breath, he did what he should have done the day Bates came to him with the news his family was gone. He silently lifted that burden up, raised it high, and placed it with his heavenly Father. He’d always miss his family, always feel the loss of their passing. But instead of running from the pain, he allowed himself to feel the grief and know that the One who walked next to him was holding him up.
He didn’t know what God was calling him to do next, but he suspected part of His plan involved the partnership with Bates back in Shoreditch. His mind filled with the image of Mercy kneeling next to the lifeless girl, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and lifting her stricken eyes to meet his.
What about all the other people like her, those who needed assistance through their hardships and heartaches? He only had to imagine Mercy trying to fend for herself amidst the squalor for a burning to ignite in his chest, a burning to be there at the dispensary.