by Tate, Kristy
Eloise looked over a shoulder at Mr. Michaels as Mercy pulled her out the door. “It’s true, you know; she’s a professional.” Eloise added, “Mercy’s a tailor in her aunt’s shop.”
His eyebrows rose. “And just how long have you been doing that? Not too long, I guess. A few months, maybe?”
Mercy squared her chin and looked him in the eye. If he did recognize her, he should just say so. “Long enough to know how someone measures.”
“Surely a person can’t be measured by mere pounds and inches.” He continued, “There’s honesty and integrity to be considered.”
“Perhaps I’ll see you at church on Sunday, Mr. Michaels,” Mercy said. “Will you be delivering the sermon?”
“I didn’t mean to preach. I just meant that one can’t tell who someone really is by simply height. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss-”
Mercy glared, and Eloise shot them both a surprised look, as if she could tell the conversation had an undercurrent she couldn’t find.
Mercy held her tongue.
“Miss Mercy Faye,” Eloise blurted. “Mercy Faye, meet Mr. Trent Michaels.”
“You work in Bradly’s Dry Goods shop?”
Mercy nodded.
“And your aunt, did you say? How does she feel about duplicity?”
Mercy straightened her back. “She values honesty above all things, as do I.”
A smile tugged at his lips, and Mercy fought the urge to go back and smack him after all. She took Eloise’s elbow and, with another glance at the Lone Stag Tavern, she said, “Come Eloise, Aunt also values punctuality.”
*****
The following morning when Mercy attended church, she hoped to meet not Mr. Michaels, but Georgina Meyers, a committed member of the Ladies Relief Society and supporter of the Children’s Home.
She met Miles.
When he and Eloise walked in the chapel, his eyes lit when he spotted Mercy already in the pew she shared with her aunt. Miles always managed to sit between Mercy and Eloise, which had at first annoyed Eloise, but recently Mercy suspected Eloise had begun to encourage Miles to press his suit. Perhaps Miles had taken his post between them at first to keep his sister from whispering, but lately Miles’ prolonged lingering after Sunday services, and steadfast, earnest looks were beginning to, if not annoy, then set Mercy on edge. Still, she nodded a welcome when Miles folded his lanky form into the pew. Eloise, settling beside her brother, shot her a quick smile.
It seemed remarkable that tall, stiff Miles came from the same cloth as giggly Eloise. Mercy wished that she had met the parents that had managed to create such totally different offspring. Tall and imposing Miles, who, if he hadn’t had a successful family business to run, would have made an excellent pastor and giddy, flirtatious Eloise seemed unlikely siblings. Yet, they appeared to get on. Miles didn’t exactly smile at Eloise’s obvious man hunting antics, but he didn’t dissuade her and when Miles tended to pontificate, Eloise did little more than roll her eyes.
Miles sat beside Mercy like a stone statue clasping a hymnal and Mercy had to peer around him in search of Georgina. She’d previously met Georgina at the Ladies Relief Society and had been impressed by not only the conversation, but of how highly her aunt had spoken of her. Georgina had a passion for women’s rights and Mercy sensed a kindred spirit and an ally. Georgina didn’t fit the dedicated social reformer stereotype. A small cupid beauty who dressed in frilly pastels, she looked like the sort of girl a boy would want to tuck under his cloak and protect.
Seconds before the opening song, Mercy saw Georgina slip into the back of the chapel and arrange her soft gray skirts. Her flushed face struggled for calm.
After the prayer, Mercy kept her eyes focused on Pastor Klum, but her attention wandered. How could she speak to Georgina alone and broach the subject of Lucky Island? She couldn’t speak of it in front of Miles, Eloise, her aunt… or anyone. She hadn’t quite decided on whether or not to confide in Georgina.
Pastor Klum spoke on the Beatitudes, but his message barely scratched Mercy’s thoughts. I need blessings, she thought, as we all do, but I don’t want to inherit the earth, I just want to be able to stay in Seattle without encountering Mr. Steele. It didn’t seem an unreasonable request when the Lord was promising much greater blessing such as the kingdom of God. The poor, the hungry, the mourners -- she’d played all those roles and she hadn’t enjoyed any of them. The meek, the pure in heart, the peacemakers -- where, exactly, did she fit? Glancing around the room at first her aunt, then Miles and Eloise, Mercy’s heart twisted. She wanted to fit in with her new family and friends.
When it came time for the closing hymn, Miles belted out Jesus Savior Pilot Me in a strong bass. Mercy cast him a glance. What if she told him her experiences with Steele, how would he react? Would he defend her? Could she hide behind him? Possibly, but that wouldn’t be fair. She hadn’t a romantic interest in Miles, although she wondered why not. Tall, handsome and kind, yes, but he had the sense of humor of a toad. He caught her watching him, and the corners of his lips lifted, but Mercy didn’t know if it was a smile or the just the necessary movement for the pronunciation of chart and compass come from thee. After the benediction, Mercy looked beyond Miles’ broad back to see Georgina slipping through the broad double doors.
“Absorbing sermon, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Faye?” Miles stood between her and the retreating Georgina as solid and immovable as Mount Sinai.
Mercy blinked up at him and said the first thing that came to her mind. “Yes, but why would anyone want the whole earth?” She laid her hand on Miles’ arm. “Please excuse me, Miles. There’s someone I--”
Miles looked momentarily stunned and then, as if marshalling his thoughts said, “I do not think that was the Lord’s intention, to give the whole earth to one person, but rather to all the meek.”
“And what would the meek do with it, and where would all the rest of us go?” she asked over her shoulder. She managed to snake past him, but he followed.
Georgina stood on the steps. The late morning sun streamed through the shade of a maple tree and cast a dappled sunlight on Georgina’s face as she chatted with Pastor Klum. Mercy breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t yet left.
“Why to heaven, of course,” Miles said.
“That doesn’t seem very fair, does it?” Mercy asked, as she followed the stream of parishioners down the aisle. “The meek, who presumably didn’t have an easy time here on earth, because of their meekness, allowing others to take advantage of them and all that, have to stay on earth while the rest of us go to heaven?”
“But, we’re to assume that there are earthly blessings for the meek --” Miles persisted as he followed her out the door.
“But, is it wise to base your eternal salvation on a mere assumption?” Mercy spotted Georgina and a Pastor Klum on the steps. “The Lord helps those who help themselves, and the meek, well I don’t think they help anyone, least of all themselves.”
“That’s not scripture,” Miles addressed the back of her head. “Nor, is it doctrine.”
Mercy stopped beside Pastor Klum and laid her hand on Georgina’s arm. “Good morning.” She nodded at both the pastor and Georgina. “Pastor, I so enjoyed your sermon, but Miles as a question for you.”
“My son?” Pastor Klum turned his dark eyes on Miles who stood at Mercy’s shoulder. She could feel his breath on her neck.
Miles flinched under the pastor’s gaze. Pastor Klum had an unfortunate resemblance to Abraham Lincoln, the same build and craggy facial features, but with more hair. His eyebrows, dark, thick and long, poked from his forehead like a thorn bush and the front of his hairline had a cowlick that made his hair stand on end.
While Miles sputtered out his question about the meek inheriting the earth, Mercy whispered in Georgina’s ear and begged a moment of her time.
“A walk along the bluffs perhaps?” Georgina asked taking Mercy’s arm.
Mercy slid a glance at Miles and the pastor. Confident that Miles had been suf
ficiently tangled in Pastor’s Klum biblical discussion, she led Georgina to the path overlooking the harbor and bay. They discussed trivial things until they reached the park’s yellowing grass. Buttercups dotted the lawn and a cool breeze smelling of the Sound lifted the branches of the alders and birches around them. Mercy didn’t know how to say what was on her mind. As they walked their shoes beat a sharp and quick staccato on the brick path. Mercy kept looking over her shoulder, aware that at any moment they could be overtaken by Miles.
The brothel stood on an outcropping of rocks and shoal on the peninsula with a pole bearing not only an American flag, but also pair of pink petticoats. “On a clear day, I can imagine I can hear the sound of laughter and music coming from the island.” She nodded at the Victorian monstrosity.
Georgina clucked her tongue and for a moment Mercy wondered if she’d misspoke, but she pressed on. “Church attending young ladies like ourselves feign ignorance of such establishments and the needs to which it caters, but if we all turn a blind eye we all stumble.”
“Exactly.” Georgina tightened her hold on Mercy’s elbow. “Who told you?”
“Who told me?” Mercy laughed. “It’s a mansion with a pink petticoat hanging on a flag pole. It’s hard to miss!” The laugh died in her throat when she saw Mile’s lanky form cresting the hill and heading in their direction. She steered Georgina into a thicket of trees. She looked at Miles through the shade of the alders and saw him pause. He’d lost sight of them.
Georgina shook her head. “You’ve misunderstood. I was wondering what you know of my involvement --”
Mercy stumbled on a tree root and then corrected herself while Georgina’s hand clutched her arm. “You’re involved in the brothel?”
Georgina looked at the brothel and then studied Mercy’s face. “Forgive me, I spoke too quickly,” Georgina said, lowering her chin and looking away.
Mercy’s heart pounded. She had to tell someone her secrets and she’d chosen Georgina. Tilly, a gossip, and Eloise, a flirt, however loveable they might be, couldn’t be trusted. Mercy thought Georgina would at least understand, if not help, so she drew her about to be confidant to a bench, took her hand and told her of her experiences with Steele.
Georgina watched the boats bobbing out on the Sound during Mercy’s story. Lucky Island didn’t look like an island, but rather an extension of a long strip of land protruding into the Sound. Local legend had it that a small fissure spanned by a draw bridge separated the two land bodies. When the petticoat and bridge were drawn, the girls of Lucky Island weren’t entertaining.
“You may wonder how the girls come to Lucky Island,” Georgina said.
Mercy thought of her own circumstances and frowned. “No, actually, I can see how easy it would be for a young girl to fall.”
“It’s not a choice for every girl.”
“No, of course not.”
“I think you misunderstand. Not all of the girls made the choice, I’m afraid some were, shall we say, conscripted.”
Mercy leaned forward, her suspicions confirmed and her heart beating rapidly. “Kidnapped and sold. Just as I thought,” Mercy said, her voice hushed, barely audible. “ I don’t know Mr. Steele’s involvement, but I’ve learned most patrons were admitted with a silver token- a four leaf clover, like the one Mr. Steele had given me.”
She slipped the necklace from her bodice and showed it to Georgina. “Until I’d taken it, Mr. Steele had also had a key. I can’t use the key, of course. It’d been one thing to masquerade as a man in my father’s clothes on a ship where I could keep to my own quarters, but I couldn’t very well invade the brothel looking for my lost friends in my father’s cast offs.”
Georgina nodded. “Lucky Island services only Seattle’s finest…or, rather, the wealthiest.”
“Steele fits into the latter category, but I don’t know the significance of the key.” Mercy returned the token to her bodice.
“It does seem rather more momentous than the lucky token.” Georgina looked grim. “Something must be done. Edmond Burke wrote that all that is necessary for the forces of evil to win in the world is for good men to do nothing. Or, in our case, women.”
“That’s a rather lovely sentiment, but it would have been more useful if Mr. Edmond had provided an idea of what we could do.”
“There’s always something we can do.” Georgina took a deep breath. “First, let’s rally all our thoughts around what we know of your Mr. Steele.”
“Please, do not give Mr. Steele to me. He is not and never will be mine.” Mercy tapped her chin and began to think out loud. “Belle and Melanie, two girls, like myself, without family or ties in New York City, disappeared after a brief courtship with Mr. Steele.” Mercy paused. “What if they’re there? Just right there, on that peninsula, and I can’t, or don’t, do anything to help them?”
Georgina asked, “Do you know any gentlemen you can trust, someone whom you can compel to visit, in search of your friends?”
Trent Michael’s face flashed in Mercy’s mind and she shook him away. How could she trust someone she didn’t know? True, he knew and had kept her secret. Seattle was still a small town, prone to gossip, and Aunt Tilly was its largest monger. If a breath of her tangle with Wallace and Steele had been aired, her aunt would have heard. Mercy dismissed Trent Michaels and shook her head.
“Pity. I do so need a man I can trust if I’m to shut it down.”
“Shut down the brothel?”
Georgina looked determined. “It must be done. If only we could prove him guilty of his crimes.”
“Mr. Steele’s wife committed suicide,” Mercy continued, adding to their meager body of knowledge.
“But what if she didn’t?” Georgina asked. “What if he killed her and staged the suicide?”
Mercy inhaled and felt a sharp pain in her belly. That scenario bordered uncomfortably close to her own. “Would he do that?”
“You did.”
Mercy sucked on her lower lip. “Steele has wealth and prestige, why would he have anything to do with Belle and Melanie? Why kill his wife?”
“Why did he go to your apartment in the middle of the night with a drawn knife?” Georgina tapped her finger on Mercy’s soft blue skirt. “Some of these questions just don’t have answers. It’s extremely difficult to understand evil.”
A snapping twig interrupted their conversation. Mercy looked up as a shadow fell across the bench.
Georgina took Mercy’s hand. “We must pursue this conversation in depth and in privacy. Can you come by my home tomorrow?”
“Ah, Miss Faye, Miss Meyers.” Miles took a deep breath and brushed the hair from his eyes. “I’ve found you.”
“Yes, how fortunate,” Georgina smiled up at him. “We were just talking of evil, and yet here you are, a good man in direct opposition of our conversation. You give us hope, Mr. Carol.”
Miles flushed. “I was hoping to accompany you home.”
Georgina flashed him another coquettish smile and Miles seemed, for a moment, star struck.
“Yes, it’s obvious that you and evil can’t coexist,” Georgina said and although she addressed Miles, Mercy understood that she spoke of herself and Steele.
Mercy nodded. “One of us will have to leave.”
Miles’ stunned look turned to puzzlement.
Mercy stood, shook out her skirts and took Miles’ arm. “Perhaps Mr. Carol’s escort is the answer.”
Georgina winked at Mercy and took Miles’ other arm. “For the moment.”
“We must stop the visitation to lone girls,” Georgina said as they walked towards the city.
“I never --” Miles stammered.
“Not you, dear heart,” Georgina said, her voice silky and smooth. “Evil.”
And Miles, perhaps so shocked at being called dear heart, didn’t utter another word on the long walk back.
CHAPTER 6
In cooking, there’s no substitute for experience. Become acquainted with and understand the peculiarities of
your oven and the temperament of your tools. Setting out all the necessary ingredients before beginning is sound advice. But even perfect technique can’t remedy a lack of flavor.
From The Recipes of Mercy Faye
Trent Michaels sucked in his breath. After all these weeks, he’d finally spotted her. And in the most unlikely place. What was she doing outside Steele’s hotel room door? He watched from behind a large potted fern while he speculated. Had Steele invited her? A distant outside door opened and closed sending a cold, stiff breeze blew down the hall. If Steele hadn’t invited her, how would he react to finding her breaking into this room?
Two floors below, the organ crashed into the second act. Soon, his sister Chloe, acting as Lady Persephone, would swoon into Lord Hampton’s arms, and the audience would stomp their feet, spit their chew and bellow their approval. For Miss Faye’s sake, Trent hoped Steele was among those spitting and chewing. He thought of Steele finding Mercy breaking into his room and he clenched his fists.
Where had she been? He hadn’t seen her since that afternoon in the chemist shop and he’d looked. In fact, the promise of seeing her had made his commitment to his grandmother bearable. He’d come to town, watchdog his baby sister, try to find his missing cousin, and he hoped, bump into Mercy Faye. Just as he had that morning by the display of Lifebuoy soup. The scent now conjured her memory; he’d taken to thinking of her whenever he bathed, a thought that even now heated his neck. He’d only held her a moment and their conversation had been brief, yet, whenever he used Lifebouy soap, he thought of holding her. He’d hoped for longer conversations, more holding opportunities.
But it hadn’t worked out that way. Sure, he found the shop where Mercy worked and had been very successful in conversing with the aunt, a middle-aged woman with a generous bustle. But whenever he’d asked after the Mercy, the aunt, a chatterbox, had puckered her lips and the flood of communication hit a dry spot. Stunned by the woman’s sudden silence, he’d left, but the next time he returned with flowers and a heavy arsenal of charm. To no avail. Mercy wasn’t sick, wasn’t married, and wasn’t in.