“Yes. It was lovely.” Inside the sanctuary, a cool breeze drifted through the open windows. She removed her straw hat, glad she’d remembered to grab it off the hook. “My, it feels wonderful in here.”
“Yes, doesn’t it? All thanks to those towering oaks outside. Let’s find a seat, shall we?” He led her up the aisle, stopping at the pew the Ammerson family occupied every Sunday.
Mercy slid along the bench, set her straw hat beside her, crossed her legs at the ankles, and folded her hands in her lap, ignoring the little lump that formed in her throat at having to spill her feelings.
Small talk filled up the first few minutes of their time together, but soon the pastor wanted to address her purpose in coming. Mercy began by telling him about her frustrations with caring for the boys, her fears that she and Sam weren’t “doing it right,” the crying spell from several weeks back, when the cat had gone missing, and her concerns that perhaps the boys were bottling up feelings they didn’t know how to express. Of course, she carefully avoided any talk about her marriage—until the reverend asked point-blank how she and Sam were doing as a couple.
Her heart did a crazy little flip. “We’re still getting to know each other, I suppose.”
“Perfectly understandable.” He nodded. “These things take time, even with couples who court months before saying their vows. As you grow more intimate with each other, you’ll find yourselves revealing the hidden things, and before you realize it, you’ll know each other quite thoroughly. It’s how a relationship matures. But, as I said, it all takes time and patience.”
Heat sprang to her cheeks at the word “intimacy.” Sam had kept their kisses few and far between, mostly good-night pecks, and she feared he’d started growing tired of her. But she wasn’t about to broach that subject with the preacher—much less tell him they still didn’t share a bedroom.
Instead, she confided in him how the knowledge of Sam’s mother’s affair with her father had seemed to steal a portion of Sam’s joy. She asked what she might do to help restore it, so that things could return to the way they were before.
To her surprise, Reverend Younker didn’t so much as flinch at the wretched story. Rather, he gently patted her hands. “Unfortunately, my dear, there is nothing you can do to restore Samuel’s joy. That is something he must choose for himself, through faith in Christ. Bitterness can fester over time, though, so we shall pray it doesn’t come to that.”
“That is precisely what I told him.”
He gave a tender smile. “And take care that you keep your words free of a preaching tone. Giving him orders he is powerless to fulfill in his own strength will only drive a wedge between the two of you. Your best defense is prayer. After years in ministry, I am utterly convinced of this one thing: God hears the pleas of a praying wife.”
They talked a bit longer, and then the reverend offered to pray for her. Tears formed behind her eyes, but she blinked them back, and when she stood, a sense of peace that all would be well rushed over her.
As Reverend Younker walked her to the front, she turned to him, unable to stifle her curiosity. “You didn’t seem shocked when I told you about Flora Connors and my father.”
He paused and scratched the back of his balding head. “I’ll be honest, Mercy…I learned of this attraction years ago.”
Her head jerked up in surprise.
“I never mentioned it to anyone except my Thelma, but I spotted the two of them in town one day, concealed between two buildings and having a discussion that looked…rather intimate. I briefly considered interfering but decided against it, thinking I should keep my nose where it belonged. Now I realize I should have made it my business, as a man of the cloth. While your father was a widower, Flora Connors was very much a married woman, even if there was another woman who desperately wished she weren’t.”
Mercy blinked, putting the pieces together. “You knew about MaryLou Hardwick?”
He nodded. “Before leaving town, Miss Hardwick came to see me and spilled the entire story—how she’d fallen in love with Ernest Connors, even begged him to divorce Flora. She wondered if there was any hope for her soul, after all the destruction she’d caused. And right over there”—he tilted his head toward the back of the church—“I introduced her to Jesus Christ. She didn’t even bother walking to the altar, just tearfully dropped to her knees by the bench. She walked back out the door a changed woman. That was the last time I saw Miss Hardwick, but three years ago, she sent us a letter, saying she’d settled in West Virginia and found a Christian man who loved her, despite her past. They were to be married that spring.” He smiled. “It’s just one more example of how God can take an ugly circumstance, turn it around, and make it work for His honor and glory.”
Mercy grinned. “Romans eight, verse twenty-eight. ‘And we know that to them that love God all things work together for good, even to them that are called according to his purpose.’ It’s been my favorite Bible verse for as long as I can recall.”
His smile broadened. “You are a fine woman, Mercy Connors, and I’m confident all things will work together for good in your little household. Keep your faith alive, young lady.”
He opened the heavy door, and she looked up at him once more. “Thank you, Reverend. I feel so much better already.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She stepped over the threshold, then quickly turned again, catching him just before he closed the door. “I wanted to ask you, do you happen to know if Myrtle Stitt’s niece is still visiting?”
He glanced toward the little house. “She surely is, but they’ve left town for a few days. Myrtle very much wanted to see a few of her relatives before…well, before she passes on. I don’t know just how much time she has left on this earth, but she’s making the most of every moment. Thelma and I have been checking in on her, and the neighborhood ladies have been generous in providing meals. It’s a mighty fine thing, her and Joy reuniting.”
“Is Joy…is she married?”
“Not that I know of, no. Don’t know much about her background.”
“Nor do I.” She paused in the sunshine, rejoicing in its warmth, yet knowing she would arrive home drenched with sweat. A cool bath would be the perfect remedy. “Well, thank you again, Reverend. Please give your wife my greetings.”
With that, she set off up the dusty track carved out by hundreds of wagon wheels, thinking about the men in her life whom she deeply loved—well, one man, actually, and two sweet little boys.
***
Before going downstairs for supper, Sam stood at the mirror and combed his hair back, but to no avail; his wavy strands, more unruly than usual in this muggy weather, flopped back over his forehead in disarray.
The sounds of the boys bickering in the living room and Mercy puttering around the kitchen—and issuing an occasional reprimand—rose through the floor register. Since the start of school, the dynamics between the boys had changed, with Joseph showing a more grown-up side, and John Roy desperately trying to keep the pace. Joseph had even grown a full inch since early summer, according to the little pencil marks on the kitchen wall, and John Roy, who’d grown barely half an inch, didn’t like it one bit. He’d claimed Mercy hadn’t measured right and had insisted on a redo—which, of course, had changed nothing.
Sam smiled to himself. The pair was something else. His wife was something else, too, and he’d found it necessary to keep curtailing their kisses, for lack of trust in his ability to control his desires. Good gravy, but that sassy lady had hooked him good!
Delectable aromas of fruit pie, vegetable stew, and fresh-baked bread wafted up through the floor register, overwhelming his senses. What he wouldn’t do to stay home tonight rather than go to his mother’s house and face all his relatives, especially when she dropped the big bomb. He prayed for a good outcome but didn’t hold out much hope.
He had to eat in a hurry, something he regretted but couldn’t help. Lately, he hadn’t been spending enough time with the boys, having to work e
xtra hours to keep up with the abundance of orders from retailers and private buyers. He hoped the new fellow Uncle Clarence had hired would help ease their load. So far, he’d proved a good worker, and his prior experience at a shop in northern Indiana surely couldn’t hurt.
He folded his napkin and laid it on the edge of the table, scooted back in his chair, and stood. “Excellent supper, Mercy, but I’m gonna have to excuse myself so I can get over to my mother’s place.”
“I know,” she said, in a whisper that drowned in the boys’ groans of disapproval.
“Why?” John Roy dragged the word out so that it ended on a low, whining note, his sad eyes looking ready to drop a few tears.
Sam gave a sympathetic smile and walked around the table to pat the boy on the head. “I’m really sorry. I’ll try to make it home before you go to bed, so I can tuck you in. And I promise we’ll have some playtime tomorrow night.”
“We better!” John Roy set down his fork, folded his arms across his chest, and dropped his chin.
“Don’t be a baby,” Joseph scolded.
“He’s not,” Sam said. “He misses our playtime, and I don’t blame ’im.” He crouched down to the boys’ level. “I think he’s been missin’ you too, Joseph.”
“No, I ain’t,” John Roy blurted out, his arms still locked in front of him.
Sam ignored the remark. “There’ve been a lot of changes lately, and we all have to work together to get through them. Can we do that?” Sam cast Mercy a glance he hoped communicated his need for help.
She read it correctly, and reached out and touched John Roy’s arm. “Sam will spend time with you tomorrow. Has he ever broken a promise?”
Sam held his breath as he waited for a reply, but it came only in the form of two heads moving from side to side. It would have to do. “There, see? I’ll be back later. And I’ll devote this Saturday to the family, how about that?”
The statement brought both boys to life, and when he glanced at Mercy, he found her eyes as bright as black diamonds, and he knew a sense of relief. He hadn’t paid her nearly enough attention, either, what with his morose moods of late. Lord, how I need Your divine touch. The silent plea put a hungry spot at the core of his heart, and he vowed to seek the Lord’s presence with more diligence in the days to come.
Mercy walked Sam to the door. “I’ll be praying for you tonight,” she whispered. “I’m asking that the Lord will lay it on your relatives’ hearts to show forgiveness and mercy.”
He tilted his head to the side and lifted her chin with a curved finger. “I think I know why your parents named you Mercy. You have a heart full of it. They must’ve had some sort o’ premonition of what you’d grow to become.”
She gave a timid smile, then lowered her gaze, her dark, feathery lashes sweeping down to cover her midnight eyes. He bent and touched his lips to both lids. “I’ll see you later.”
When he walked out, he sensed her watching as he untied Tucker’s lead from the post in the front yard. He mounted up and directed Tucker down the drive, glancing back when they reached the road. Sure enough, there she stood in the open doorway, her body silhouetted by the hall light. He waved, and the silhouette waved back.
Folks started arriving at his mother’s at seven on the dot. His family was a punctual lot—he could at least give them that much. Arriving simultaneously were his uncle Clarence and aunt Hester, along with their sons, Peter and John, and their daughter, Sarah. Sam noted that his cousins’ spouses were not in attendance; undoubtedly they’d stayed home with their children. Good. He’d hoped they’d all have the sense to leave their kids at home, considering they’d heard that his mother had urgent news to impart.
On their tails came his other aunt and uncle on the Connors side, Gilbert and Ella, and their sons, Frank and George; again, the wives must have stayed home with the children. The only one missing was Persephone—the one relative Sam would have taken great pleasure in seeing. Just before he’d left for the train station after their visit in Nashville, she’d wrapped him in a hug and told him not to be a stranger, insisting he return soon with Mercy and the boys. He’d promised he would. When he’d turned to leave, she’d stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Would you tell my family I love them?” she’d asked, with tears welling in her eyes. “And one more thing…would you tell Mama she’s about to be a grandma again?” With a lump in his own throat, he’d told her it would be his pleasure. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to deliver the message, and he figured what better time than tonight?
His mother was a basket of frayed nerves by the time everyone had gotten situated in the living room, some of them seated in chairs, the more agile ones—himself included—occupying spots on the floor. A small part of his heart reached out to his mother, but it didn’t quite stretch wide enough to lend any support. This is her problem, he told himself, and her business to dig her way through it in whatever way she can. He didn’t necessarily relish the hard, icy emotions frosting over his insides, but he didn’t think they would thaw out anytime soon.
A hush came over the room as every pair of eyes fell on his mother. She gave a half smile, and for the first time, Sam noticed her chin quavering. This announcement wouldn’t come rolling off her tongue, by any means. He cleared his throat. “Um, thank you all for comin’.” He hadn’t intended to speak, but when all heads turned in his direction, expressions either fraught with concern or simply curious, he decided to stand up. He rubbed his hands together, praying silently for the right words. “As you know, my mother has somethin’ she wants to tell all of you…somethin’ important.”
Several heads bobbed up and down.
“What is it, Flora?” asked Aunt Ella. “For heaven’s sake, are y’ dyin’ or somethin’?”
“Mother!” This from George, one of his mother’s most beloved nephews. “Just talk to us, Aunt Flora. We’re all here to listen.”
“That’s right, Auntie. It can’t be all that bad,” said Frank, tied with George as his mother’s favorite relative. Both seemed always at her beck and call whenever she had a mind to wreak havoc on a member of the Evans clan. In fact, Sam wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she’d known all along about the part they’d played in breaking Mercy’s window. She could deny it till she was blue, but he wouldn’t buy it, no sir. What little trust he’d once had in her had burnt away like the last cut of kindling in a roaring fire.
His gaze rested steady on her. “Go ahead, Mother. Your family’s waitin’.”
Not one to cry, she actually wiped away a single tear, prompting the entire room to gasp in shock, then fall completely silent. “Samuel is right. I have something to tell all of you.” Her voice trembled. “And it’s not going to be simple or painless. It involves this…this lifelong feud with the Evans folk.”
Several people started murmuring.
“What about those pieces o’ horse dung?” Frank asked, sitting straighter, his spine looking as if it’d been fused to a steel rod.
When everything in him wanted to strangle his cousin for his crassness, Sam remained oddly calm. “Let my mother continue.”
She looked to him for something—strength? courage?—but all he could give her was a nod. She opened her mouth and let the dreaded tale unfold.
And unfold it did, to the dismay of everyone present. Creased brows, dropped jaws, confused faces turned angry, and arms flung wide in shock were just a few of the reactions when she exposed her long-held secret.
To her credit, she didn’t try to hide the truth about falling prey to Oscar Evans’ advances, and she even admitted to having enjoyed the attention. When someone asked how she could have done that to Ernest, she hung her head and stared at the balled-up handkerchief clutched in her fist. Sam had to give her additional credit for not dragging his father’s name through the mud, but then, he figured she had her reasons. Revealing his own four-year affair would shine a different light on things, making folks detest her all the more for driving him to it. She could only take so much of the blame. This
way, it sounded as if Sam’s father had pined for her till the day he died—and that two men rather than one found her attractive.
Sam decided to let the matter go. As long as she came clean about her own actions, he really didn’t care whether the family ever found out about his father’s escapades with Miss Hardwick. What possible good could come from complicating the story with more dirt?
33
Flora pushed down the awful urge to retch in plain sight of everyone. She’d never seen such foul-looking faces or experienced such outright disapproval and wrath, especially from her husband’s family. At least her sister, Mable, still claimed to love her, even though it’d been clear something had changed between them the instant Flora had confessed her secret several days prior. She never would have told her at all, if she hadn’t thought the news would leak from another source.
She’d hoped—foolishly, it seemed—for a little commiseration from Clarence and Samuel, the two men who had known Ernest best. But neither of them offered a word of support, so she plowed through the whole tale, sharing almost every sordid detail. Did they think it was easy confessing one’s sinful past in front of God and everyone? Surely, she deserved some tiny morsel of mercy. But her family seemed to disagree.
She forged ahead with her final words of the evening. “I make this…this confession tonight…to tell you that this feud…well, it has to stop.”
“An’ why’s that?” Frank asked, rising to his feet. “Your tale don’t make me hate them people any less.”
“What is it you base your hate on, Cousin?” All eyes fell to Samuel, and Flora felt momentary relief from the piercing stares. “And, to clarify things, this is no tale. It really happened, and it knocks the foundation out from under this feud. It started as an argument over property lines, but all o’ that is long past. The only remainin’ bone o’ contention is Mother’s infidelity with Oscar Evans, and he and my father are both dead. What on earth is there left to fight over?”
Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) Page 26