by Tate, Kristy
Would she cry out or kick if he picked her up? He looked around at the deserted street. They’d traveled to a rough neighborhood made of wooden buildings hastily constructed to suit Seattle’s rapidly growing population. Many of the weathered boards that made the structures had been recycled and while most of the planks were gray and aged, some had been painted. Green stripes sat next to brown. Even some of the nails looked like they were in their second life—rusty nails hammered beside shiny nails. He watched Mercy’s face lit with animation. She glowed like a shiny pebble in a dirty pool. She didn’t belong in the rough neighborhood.
“He didn’t know he sang to Ingrid,” Mercy continued. “He didn’t know that she lit his way home and that she had fallen in love with him. Ingrid couldn’t resist the pull of his lovely tenor voice. Because he grew more and more secure in his ability to fish on the dark sea, his trips grew longer and longer, and he fished long after the other fishermen returned home.”
Trent watched her lips as she spoke. He loved her voice. He realized he’d grown accustomed, addicted even, to everything about her.
“He grew rich and prosperous and thought of taking a wife, and one late night his song turned to yearning for love. Ingrid, hearing his song, was filled with jealousy and called to Poseidon who brought a storm.”
They had followed the man down the hill that led to the harbor, but when a dark figure emerged from the alley, Mercy slowed.
Trent asked, “And then what happened?”
He followed Mercy’s gaze to watch as a man in the cloak pointed his finger at their quarry’s chest.
“Do you mind if we slow down? These shoes are beginning to pinch,” Mercy asked.
Trent looked at the two men ahead of them and then back at Mercy. “Why are we following them?”
She sent him a cross look and whispered, “You’re ruining my story.”
He softly swore.
Mercy drew herself up, straightened her back. “You needn’t curse.”
Trent let out a woof of air. Part school-marm, part seductress, part social reformist, everything about her contradicted and made his head spin.
She gave him a hurt look. “If you’re going to be unpleasant --”
Trent shook his head. “I apologize. Please continue.”
Mercy stopped beside a lamp light and shot him a glance. “Are you even listening?”
Trent waved his hand in front of him as if to say, please go on.
Mercy resumed walking and continued her story, but her voice sounded hurt and less sure. “Ingrid left her home in the sky and rescued Bren from the sea and then she carried him home. For weeks, as he convalesced, a bright light would radiate from his cottage. None of the villagers who visited or brought him meals could understand the lustrous light that shone from his cottage windows or why as Bren grew weaker and weaker his countenance grew brighter and brighter. And then one day, the light disappeared. The villagers ran to the cottage, found not Bren, but a brilliant sapphire lying on the bed where Bren had lain.”
“And Bren?”
“It’s believed he went with the Elfin princess.”
“To the smiley moon?”
“Yes, see, there it is.” She pointed at the moon rising above the dark gathering clouds. “Venus , the goddess of love rises in early June and coincides with the crescent moon -- Oh goodness!” She clutched Trent’s arm.
“What is it?”
Mercy turned her head away. “That man has a gun.”
The man with the gun glanced up the hill and caught sight of Mercy and Trent. Trent drew Mercy behind him, shielding her. Mercy tried to look over his shoulder, but by the time Trent let her go, both men were gone. She crawled out from under Trent’s arm. “They’re gone.”
Trent still held her tightly against him. Despite the fact that she felt warm and fragile, and that he could think of little else other than the length of his thigh pressing against hers, he tried to step away. Until he saw a movement on a stairwell ahead, a shadow flitting in the semi darkness. He drew Mercy to his side. “We’re not alone,” Trent said.
They stood on a hill and mud, muck and debris cruised down the wagon ruts and pooled in puddles, causing a stench that mingled with the Sound’s salt and brine. Some of the wood buildings had chunks of the fading daylight shining through the ill-formed boards. Tufts of grass poked between the slats of the boardwalk. He wondered what sort of businesses flourished in the decrepit neighborhood, who were the residents, who were the patrons and what had brought them here? His eyes flitted to the boarded windows, other than a rat scurrying beneath the boardwalk and a tailless dog loping towards the docks, he didn’t see anyone.
He could feel the tension in Mercy’s spine and it made him uncomfortable. He worried that she knew far more than she shared. She trusted him enough to allow him to accompany her to Seattle’s skid row, but not enough to tell him her true purpose and designs, dangerous purposes and designs, however well intended.
She nudged him with her elbow. “Will you please take me home?”
Keeping her tucked close to his side, Trent steered her back up the street. A weak moon shone through a rising gray mist and the light breeze had turned into a mean wind that stung his face. It’d be dark before they’d reach Lily Hill and Trent had a mounting feeling of foolishness. He knew if anyone saw her cinched up against his chest the rumors, already flying, would rocket.
Trent’s arm stiffened, his lips tightened, and a vein in his neck throbbed. He put his hand behind his back to the knife tucked in his belt. He watched the corner where a set of stairs led up a dark stoop. A shadow. No larger than Mercy’s, but it had darted. A flash of movement, quiet and stealthy. Mercy picked up her pace, but Trent held her back.
“We’ll cross the street,” he said in her ear.
Mercy looked at the street with dismay and moaned. “Please, let’s cross at the intersection.” If they crossed at the corner, she’d pick a semi clean path on the bricks, but to cross mid street through the mud would be the death of her Sunday shoes and stockings.
He could almost read her thoughts. Why could he know how she felt about mud and shoes and not know why she followed men to a coarse section of town? She balked at stepping into the filth.
Trent stopped and took her arm. With a glance at the dark stoop, he urged her forward. “We’re being followed.”
Mercy shook her head and Trent again tried to propel her into the street.
Mercy gulped and shook away from Trent. “The shadow could have been anyone, a child even, perhaps a scared child, hiding and hungry.”
Trent frowned at her. “So, you saw someone, too.”
“Just because --” she gulped. “I just don’t think we need to be so quick to step into the muddy street.”
Trent looked aggrieved. “Would you like me to carry you?”
“No!” she said, too loudly.
A roar drowned out her voice and the world exploded into a pink and green mist.
CHAPTER 19
There are four ingredients in a standard piecrust: flour, fat, liquid, and salt. Flour is necessary to form the crust’s structure and bulk. Fat adds flavor and creates a flaky texture. Liquid binds the dough and keeps it pliable. Salt enhances the flavor.
From The Recipes of Mercy Faye
Mercy screamed as a dark cloak smelling of tea and smoke went over her head. She felt strong arms encircling her waist and threatening to pull her away from Trent. He had a hold of her hand and she could feel her fingers folding in on one another in his grip. She screamed and kicked as the arms lifted her from the boardwalk. The smell of the cloak caught in her throat and she fought back rising bile.
The arms, like two small steel bands, tightened around her waist and cut off her breath. She flayed her arms, groping for Trent in the near darkness. She heard him swearing, and then she heard a muffled voice she recognized. She went still.
“Young Lee?” she asked. “Is this you?”
Suddenly the arms loosened and she fell to the
ground and landed on her bottom. She scrambled to stand and cast off the cloak. Trent stood before her, fists poised. Young Lee, wiping the blood from his lip, had jumped into a crouch. Young Lee made a low guttural noise that Mercy associated with wild animals. She flung the cloak at him and stepped in front of Trent.
“Stop!” she screamed. Holding up her hands, she placed herself between the two sparring men. Each looked ready to kill and Mercy realized that Trent must not have been carrying a gun, because his hands were empty. Young Lee, however, held a strange shiny object in the shape of a star that glinted in the early moonlight. “Stop,” she repeated, her voice taking on a pleading tone.
Neither man moved.
“Young Lee,” Mercy said, her voice shaking. “This is Mr. Michaels, he’s a friend of mine.”
Young Lee didn’t look convinced, but he lowered his arms a fraction and stood a little taller. “Friend?”
“Yes,” Mercy said, inhaling deeply. “He’s a friend.”
She cast a nervous glance at Trent. “Trent, this is Young Lee. He works for my aunt.”
Trent raised his fists. “Why the cloak?”
“He no look friendly,” Young Lee asked at the same time. “Why he grab you?”
Mercy placed her hand on Trent’s arm and managed to push it down. “See, he won’t harm me.”
The small man stood straight, legs spread, arms crossed, and lids lowered. “I no like this friend. He not good friend for you.”
“Well, that may or may not be true,” Mercy bit back a nervous laugh of relief, “but, we’re going home now, so you see, I’m perfectly safe.”
“If he’d been a good friend, he no bring you here.”
“Aw, so we agree on something,” Trent said, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve.
“I didn’t twist your arm,” Mercy said. “You came on your own.”
“Only because I thought if I didn’t accompany you, you’d come on your own.”
Mercy flushed.
“Am I right?” Trent argued.
Young Lee sniffed. “I go with you now home.”
“There’s no need to accompany us, I assure you I’m safe,” Mercy said.
“You go home to Miss Tilly.” Young Lee folded his arms across his chest.
“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying,” Trent said, taking Mercy’s arm.
Mercy rounded on him. “You have not.”
“Well, it’s what I’ve been thinking.” He propelled her up the hill.
Mercy rolled her eyes, and followed. Young Lee fell into step behind them. Trent cast a glance back at Young Lee and Mercy followed his gaze. Young Lee didn’t make any eye contact, but he trailed them by five paces. His black silk cloak swirled around his legs as he walked.
“What do you mean I may or may not be a good friend?” Trent said, rubbing his knuckles.
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” Mercy murmured. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“He blinded us, threw a cloak over you, tried to carry you off--”
“He thought you meant me harm.”
“And if he wasn’t right then, he’s right now.”
She chuckled. “You mean me harm?”
Trent sucked in his breath. “If I have to harm you to keep you safe, I will.”
“Safe from whom? You?”
Trent placed his hand on the small of her back and led her up Lily Hill. “I will keep you off of Skid Row. I will keep you from the likes of Steele, Lector and Orson.”
“That sounds like a threat.” She cast a smile back at Young Lee. “I’m not completely defenseless, you know.”
“I don’t care how many umbrellas you wield or how many body guards you have hidden. The next time --”
Mercy laughed. “The next time, what?”
Trent’s face turned hard and his eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Don’t push me, Mercy.”
She slid a sidewise glance at his chiseled jaw. She hoped he didn’t feel used, because she had used him. Going to the gaming house and following Wallace, if it had even been Wallace, in the misty near dark it’d been hard to tell, had been infinitely easier because she’d had Trent’s comforting hulk beside her. When had he become a security blanket? When had he won her trust? She thrust her hand under his arm, grateful for his size and warmth. She could feel his tension and she knew she caused it and yet, she still appreciated his company. “Thank-you for coming with me tonight.”
“We weren’t really going to see the smiley moon, were we?”
“Would you believe I needed exercise?”
“In your precious Sunday shoes?”
She cocked her head. “Walking with you is safer than walking alone.”
He gave Young Lee and meaningful glance. “We’re not alone. As a matter of fact, we never were.”
Mercy nodded, knowing he referred to the thug they’d been following. Feeling contrite, she said something she wondered if she’d regret. “I know someone you might like to meet. Someone who might have information about your cousin.” She doubted very much if Georgina would approve of being exposed, but maybe if Trent could help she wouldn’t mind.
They stopped beneath a street lamp. The smell of gas mingled with the cool, moist night air. In the shadow of an elm tree, the hooded figure of the Young Lee blended into the early night’s gloom, Mercy could feel his darks eyes watching her as she told Trent about the girl recently escaped from Lucky Island.
*****
Tilly’s eyes flashed between Trent and Mercy and a knowing smile played around her lips. “Did I see you at our Sabbath services yester-morning Mr. Michaels?”
Trent cleared his throat. “No,” he said shuffling his boots on the tapestry carpet.
“Hmm,” Tilly murmured, her gaze going between the two. “Pastor Klum gave an inspiring sermon on personal sanctity.”
Mercy hoped she looked as calm and guilt free as Trent. “Actually, Auntie, I thought he spoke on free will.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” Trent said with twitching lips.
“Free will, personal sanctity, moral discipline, it’s all the same thing, don’t you think?” Tilly pointed her chin at Mercy. “Thank goodness, Mercy heard it.”
Mercy fiddled with the lace on the sleeve of her dress and wondered how many rumors her aunt had heard of her and Trent.
Trent cleared his throat. “I spent yesterday morning at my grandmother’s ranch. In fact, I’ve come to invite Mercy there now.”
All went just as they’d planned and yet, Tilly had to believe that it hadn’t been prearranged. She couldn’t know that Trent had already fetched Dorrie.
Tilly raised up slightly on her toes and her voice trilled slightly as she said, “How lovely!”
And in her aunt’s voice Mercy heard hints of a wedding cake, flower girls, and diamond rings. She couldn’t let Tilly misunderstand or else she’d have to explain to all of Seattle that she wasn’t betrothed to Trent Michaels. “Auntie --”
“I should love to see your grandmother, it’s been a number of years, I believe, since she’s been to town.” Tilly’s eyes sparkled with wanted information. “I remember when your grandparents were the King and Queen of Seattle Society--”
“So I heard.” Trent murmured.
“And since your grandfather’s death, your poor grandmother has been very reclusive.” Tilly tapped Trent’s arm with her spectacles. “Does this invitation mean that she’s stepping back into social circles, or --” Tilly paused, her smile bright, “does this mean that –”
“It’s just tea, Aunty.” Mercy cast a frantic glance at Trent. What was he up to? “Perhaps you should join us,” she said, knowing perfectly well that her aunt detested long and bouncy coach rides.
“Oh no, dear, it’s such a long ride. Of course, it’s very beautiful along the river, quite romantic. You two will enjoy it. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.”
Mercy had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Tilly’d been on the verge of spouting Klum’s sermon, but when a hin
t of matrimony cast a pink shadow, romantic drives along the river were in order. And of course, although her aunt didn’t know it, a third wheel had already been procured, Dorrie.
*****
By mile six Dorrie began to speak without visible fear. Because her lips were still swollen, she lisped, and her eyes were shifty despite their puffy purple bruising.
“I’m still not convinced this was the best idea,” Mercy said, her nervousness mounting with every passing mile.
Trent lounged on the opposite seat, his legs occupying most of the space between them. He looked the perfect picture of comfort and ease. “We agreed we couldn’t talk at Tilly’s --”
Mercy twitched her skirt so that it wouldn’t touch Trent’s boot. “Well, of course, but--”
“We couldn’t talk in front of Chloe.”
Mercy took a deep breath, gathering steam for an argument. “But, we could have waited for Chloe to leave.”
Trent shook his head. “She’d return, perhaps unexpectedly. I don’t want to frighten her. Needlessly. And your reputation is already in tatters, your visiting my home without a chaperone would have set whatever is left of it on fire.”
Mercy gaze landed on Dorrie, and then shifted away. Dorrie looked like a battered twelve year old wearing her mother’s dress up clothes. Mercy wondered where Georgina had gotten the dress and if they hadn’t been able to find something better fitting. The fabric swam around the girl’s fragile shoulders.
Trent addressed Dorrie. “And you said you didn’t want to go out in public. That didn’t leave us with a lot options. Besides, there is a likeness of Rita at the ranch.”
“But, you’re grandmother isn’t expecting us,” Mercy put in.
Trent smiled at her and the coach seemed to grow impossibly small. “We’ve been overlooking a number of social conventions recently.”