Sweet Mercy

by Ann Tatlock

  Only then did I realize, in a sudden bolt of clarity, that any number of the men and women gathered at the lodge were the very people who drove through Fludd’s Service Station, carrying away something in their cars other than a few gallons of gasoline. Who, after all, would Calvin Fludd be servicing but the fine people of Mercy and the neighboring towns? Not all of them, of course, but surely some. And maybe many. Rather than the outrage I had imagined just moments before, any announcement on my part about liquor in the cellar would probably produce a riotous stampede in that direction.

  I swayed slightly and felt a ripple of nausea roll across my stomach. The air in the lodge was stifling; I couldn’t breathe. The intrepid ceiling fans turning overhead were no match for the soaring temperatures and the close proximity of so many bodies. I had to get out. I elbowed my way through the dining room and hurried to the porch.

  I had barely stepped into the open air when Cassandra was beside me. “What are you doing out here, Eve?” she asked, pinching my elbow playfully. She was fanning herself with a funeral parlor fan she’d picked up at the service.

  “It’s too hot inside.”

  “It sure is, and I’ve had quite enough of all this. What do you say we go down to the island and put our toes in the river?”

  I looked at her and smiled. “Let’s go.”

  She tossed aside the fan, I set down my glass of punch, and together we hurried down the steps and across the bridge to the island. The place was deserted; Uncle Cy had closed it off to guests for the day. We giggled like children as we rushed along the path to the beach, where we kicked off our shoes and stepped barefoot into the river.

  Cassandra tilted her face toward the sky and smiled. “It’s just delicious!” she cried, wiggling her toes in the water. “I couldn’t wait to get away from the crowd. I thought I would die of the heat and the long faces and all the kowtowing to Uncle Cy. ‘Oh, she was such a dear woman,’ and ‘Oh, what a loss to the town.’ I bet not one of them ever gave Cora the time of day when she was alive.”

  I sniffed out a laugh and said, “I don’t know, Cassandra. Maybe they liked her, some of them. After all, we never came to visit while Cora was here, so we don’t know what went on.”

  “No, but I know people. They all want something. Even when they do nice things for you and act as though you’re all they care about in the world, the bottom line is what’s in it for them. I . . .” She stopped herself and took a deep breath. “Well, never mind, Eve. You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen, and that’s good. You won’t end up so cynical.”

  I picked up a small rock and tossed it into the water. With one hand shading my eyes, I looked up and down the river. “I think I understand what you mean. At least a little bit. I’ve seen a few things myself.”

  Cassandra laughed. She didn’t believe me. That was all right. “You’re lucky to be young and innocent,” she said, “and . . . I don’t know . . . pure, I guess.”

  “Pure?”

  “Yes. You know, you haven’t run off to speakeasies and gotten drunk and been with the boys the way I used to. You haven’t made a mess of things. You’ve always been a good person, Eve.”

  I dropped my hand to my side and shook my head. “I used to think I was,” I said quietly.

  “What?”

  “I said, I used to think I was a good person. Once.”

  She laughed again, splashed the water with her feet. “You’re so funny. What have you done that’s so awful? Kiss Marcus?”

  I smiled wistfully. If only I were as innocent as that! Maybe I would never join the dash for illegal liquor, but neither would I reveal the hiding place. What was the difference? One transgression was the same as another. I picked up another stone, threw it more forcefully, watched the water ripple away from where it landed. I wanted to steer the conversation away from me, to talk about other things.

  “Aren’t you happy, Cassandra?” I asked. “I mean, with Warren and the girls?”

  She paused in her splashing and appeared deep in thought. Finally she said, “Having them is more than I deserve. So while things aren’t perfect, yes, I guess I’m nearly as happy as a person can be. Still, it doesn’t erase the past. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the day I’ll have to tell Effie that her daddy isn’t her daddy. Not her real one, anyway.”

  “Do you think you have to tell her?”

  “It’s only fair that she knows. Wouldn’t you want to know?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I would.”

  “Yes.” She sighed heavily. “It will be a confession of sorts. ‘Look what your mommy did. Look at what a bad mommy you have. . . . ’”

  Her voice choked up and she looked away.

  “She’ll forgive you,” I said gently.

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why should she?”

  “Because she loves you.”

  She turned to me, brushed away a tear, smiled. “You sound like Daddy.”

  “Do I?”

  “‘Love shall cover the multitude of sins.’ Remember?”

  “First Peter 4:8,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “One of the Bible verses he made us memorize when we were kids.”

  She nodded. “And I heard him say it a thousand times himself. Though I don’t even really know what it means.”

  I drew in a breath. I looked at the river, at the lodge, at Cassandra. “Maybe it’s mercy,” I said.

  Cassandra tilted her head. “Mercy?” she asked.

  I nodded. Yes. What Reverend Kilkenny had been preaching about all summer.

  Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.

  “Well,” Cassandra said, “maybe so. I don’t know much about that sort of thing. But I hope you’re right about Effie. I hope she’ll forgive me.”

  “She will,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Cassandra smiled and, to my surprise, threw her arms around me and held me close. “I’m glad we’ve had a chance to . . . you know, talk about things. And become friends.”

  “I hope you’ll still think so in a few months, after we’ve lived with you and Warren for a while. You don’t mind too much, do you?”

  “That you’ll be living with us? No, of course I don’t mind. I don’t understand it. I mean”—she let me go and threw open her arms over the river—“how Daddy could want to leave here to go back to St. Paul.” She shook her head. “I guess there’s a lot about Daddy I’ve never understood, but don’t worry about coming back with us. It’ll be all right. We’ll make it so.”

  We stood in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company, enjoying the coolness of the water. I was comforted by the refreshing shivers that traveled up my legs and out my arms. It was delicious, and lovely, and serene. Standing here in the river with Cassandra was the first sweet moment of the day.

  But only a short time later, Cassandra nodded over my shoulder and said, “Uh-oh. We’ve been found out.”

  I looked back at the bridge and saw Link crossing over to the island. I gasped.

  “Do you know him?” Cassandra asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “He kind of looks like a bum.”

  “He is. He lives in the camp up the river.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is he safe?”

  I laughed. “Oh yeah, he’s perfectly safe. He’s actually a very nice person. I know him well enough to say that for certain.”

  “Oh?” A smile spread slowly across my sister’s face as Link came closer. Quietly, she said, “Well, Eve, he’s rather handsome too, isn’t he? For a bum, I mean.”

  Before I could respond, Link was there. He didn’t smile.

  “Hello, Eve.”

  “Hi, Link. Um, this is my sister, Cassandra.”

  He nodded politely. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Cassandra, this is Link.”

  She smiled—rather playfully, I thought—and said, “I’ve heard such wonderful things about you. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

 
My jaw dropped. Link looked at me, his eyes flashing bewilderment. But he smiled at Cassandra and offered her another brief nod.

  “Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” Cassandra went on, “but Warren’s been watching the girls for the past couple hours, and it’s about time I go give him a break. Maybe I’ll see you again later, though, um . . . Link, is it?”

  “Yes. Yes, maybe I’ll see you.”

  “But—” I started, to no avail. Cassandra blew me a kiss and moved away, and I was left alone with Link.

  I didn’t want him to think I’d been gushing about him to my sister, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to explain. I fumbled for the right words, but as though he’d already dismissed Cassandra’s innuendoes, Link jumped in and said, “Listen, Eve, I have to tell you something. It’s important.”

  We spent a few awkward seconds staring at each other, each waiting for the other to say something. Then I blurted, “So tell me. What is it?”

  He fidgeted, shifting his feet on the pebbly beach. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, though he finally settled on hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his worn tan slacks. “I don’t know how to say it, so I’m just going to say it.”

  I waited.

  He drew in a deep breath, all of which rushed out as he said, “Come Saturday night, I want you to be in your room by ten o’clock, and once you’re there I don’t want you to come out again until morning.”

  Just as quickly as he started, he stopped. His jaw snapped shut and beads of sweat broke out along his brow, as though his announcement had raised his temperature and ignited a fever. For a moment I didn’t respond, but then a loud sharp laugh escaped me that surprised us both. “What are you talking about?” I cried.

  “I can’t explain but—”

  “You want me to go to my room on Saturday night and not come out?”

  “Yes. I can’t explain, Eve, but—”

  “Well, it just so happens that I’m not going to be here on Saturday night because we’re leaving Saturday morning.” As soon as I spoke, I gasped and raised a hand to my lips. But it was too late; the words were already out in the open.

  Link frowned so deeply all his features seemed to gather at the center of his face. “You’re leaving on Saturday?”

  I nodded hesitantly.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  I lowered my hand from my mouth. When I spoke, it was in a whisper. “We’re going home. When Cassandra leaves, we’re going back with her.”

  “You’re going back to Minnesota?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why? Why are you going back?”

  I didn’t want to lie but I had no choice. “Daddy wants to go home, is all. He’s not happy here.”

  His eyes spoke of disbelief as his face reddened. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

  “I . . . I don’t really know, Link.”

  “When did your daddy decide to leave?”

  “Some days back. About a week ago, maybe.”

  “Well, were you ever going to tell me or were you just going to disappear?”

  I shook my head. Tears pressed against my eyes. I couldn’t answer.

  Link looked aside and kicked at the stones at his feet. When he looked back at me, his eyes were steely. His mouth twitched. “Maybe it’s for the best,” he said. “Good-bye, Eve.”

  He turned and left before I could respond. Through my tears, I watched him walk away, a lone figure moving in waves across the island.

  Chapter 35

  I spent Friday saying good-bye. Good-bye to my room, to the view out the window, to the green lawn where the guests lounged and strolled and played croquet. Good-bye to the dining room, the front porch and its rocking chairs, the footbridge arching over the narrow tributary to the island. Good-bye to the island itself, the pebbly beach, the vast cool waters of the Little Miami, the boats and picnic tables, the pavilion and the dance floor. Good-bye to ghosts and good-bye to memories. Good-bye to the dream of a safe place. Eden’s gates were locked and the key was beyond my reach.

  Good-bye too to Annie Tweed, as we stood together at the sink, washing and drying the lunch dishes.

  “Shame you have to go, child,” she said. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Annie.”

  Did she know why we had to go? After all, Morris knew. He’d been the one to find it, the bottle of Scotch in the box marked canned peaches. I studied Annie’s face to see if there was any knowledge there, but it was impossible to tell.

  “It’s been real nice having you here, having you help around the kitchen.”

  I nodded as I wiped a plate with a dishcloth. “I’m glad I could be of help, Annie. I wish we could stay.”

  “Well, you’ll be back to visit us, I suppose.”

  “I guess so,” I said, though I knew we’d never be back.

  She was scrubbing a pot, but she paused and looked out the window at the stone wall. “Someone else going to miss you, Eve,” she said, “’sides me.”

  Though there was no one there now, some of the men from the camp had gathered by the wall at lunchtime. Link had not been among them.

  “No,” I said, “I don’t think so. Anyway . . .” I shrugged, lifted the plate into the cupboard. I didn’t want to think about Link.

  “Shame you have to go,” Annie said again.

  I nodded. We finished the dishes in silence.

  That night I packed my suitcase. I laid it open on my bed and folded my clothes into it. I tucked in my photographs and scrapbooks. I lifted my treasure box from the dresser and, without opening it, held it in my hand for a moment. I didn’t want to look at what was inside: the elephant from Al Capone, the brass ring from Marcus, the St. Rita medal from Jones.

  I would say good-bye to Jones in the morning. I would say good-bye to Uncle Cy too, though I would refuse to look him in the eye. It would take me a long time to forgive him, if ever.

  Latching the suitcase, I set it aside. I would finish packing my few belongings in the morning. Now, it was time to sleep. We would pack up the cars and be on the road by daybreak. We had a long hot trip ahead of us, and I wanted to be rested.

  When I awoke, the room was full of light. There was a moment of panic, the sense that something was wrong. My first incoherent thought was that I’d slept through Mother’s knock on the door and the family had left without me.

  I scrambled out of the bed, threw on my robe, and glanced at the clock. Almost eight already. I rushed through the bathroom to Mother and Daddy’s room. The bed was made. No one was there.

  Throwing open the door to the hall, I hurried out and rushed nearly headlong into Cassandra, who was carrying a glass of something in each hand. “Slow down, Eve,” she snapped. “You almost drenched me in Coke.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “The girls have been sick all night. Fever and vomiting, both of them. Obviously, we’re not going to be going anywhere today.” She sighed and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of one hand. She was dressed in the clothes she’d worn yesterday, and I suspected she hadn’t slept at all.

  “What’s the matter with them?”

  “I don’t know. The doctor’s on the way.”

  “Is anyone else sick?”

  She shook her head impatiently. “Not that I know of. Listen, I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got to get back to the girls.”

  “All right. So—” I wanted to ask her what I could do to help, but before I could get the words out she’d already stepped into her room and closed the door.

  I went back to my own room to get dressed. I suddenly had one more day to say good-bye to everything all over again. It made it all seem rather anticlimactic.

  Dressed, with hair pulled back into a braid, I went downstairs to breakfast.

  The doctor decided the girls were suffering from a simple case of stomach flu. He said to keep them comfortable, cool and hydrated, and they should be able to travel in a few da
ys.

  We were relieved it was nothing more serious, but we were all annoyed with the doctor’s prognosis of “a few days.” By now, we were ready to go, and no one wanted us gone more than Uncle Cy. He didn’t say as much, but I could tell by the look on his face when he got the news. On top of that, he let off the deepest sigh I’d ever heard. As far as Uncle Cy was concerned, the longer Daddy and I were there, the greater the chance one of us would slip up and give the secret away.

  Mother and I spent the day taking care of the girls while Cassandra and Warren napped in Mother and Daddy’s room. We kept the girls cool with cold compresses draped across their foreheads. We encouraged them to drink water and juice and to nibble on soda crackers. By midday, the nausea had largely passed, but both Effie and Grace were weak, tired, and cranky. Mother tried reading from their favorite storybook and singing lullabies and hymns to lull them to sleep, which they did fitfully for short periods of time. I was appointed the task of running back and forth to the kitchen for whatever they needed.

  Late in the afternoon, I was searching the Frigidaire for something soft for the girls to eat when I heard Morris’s truck crunching over the gravel outside.

  “About time Morris got back from the train station,” Annie said. “Must have had a big load of supplies come in today.”

  I found a bowl of strawberry Jell-O and shut the refrigerator. “Can I take some of this to the girls?” I asked.

  “Sure you can, honey. Whatever you need.” She stood at the screen door, looking out. “Your Daddy’s out there helping Morris unload the truck. Think I’ll take them both a nice cold glass of lemonade. Hot day like this, I’m sure they could use some.”

  When she stepped to the refrigerator, I moved to the door and peered out through the screen. Both Daddy and Morris were hauling crates off the truck and stacking them onto dollies. More supplies to be rolled down to the cellar for storage. I wondered if any of the crates were marked canned peaches. Or maybe the men in Cincinnati packed the stuff in different boxes this time? Maybe that was part of the code picked up by Jones when he listened to the bedtime stories. Maybe the information that came in over the airwaves was not just about when a shipment was coming in but how the crates would be labeled. Today, canned peaches. Tomorrow, cooking oil or applesauce or canned sardines.