A Patchwork Family

by Charlotte Hubbard

  He chuckled, shrugging into his shirt. “The girl’s been a hard pill to swallow. I probably brought you more trouble than she’s worth.”

  “She’ll come around.” Mercy looked off toward the trees along the river where Gabe and Emma and Billy were tossing sticks for the dogs. “Billy’s been my mainstay through this ordeal. And with Asa to help me cook for the stage passengers, we’ll be fine this winter, Michael. Honestly, I’ll ask for your help if I need it.”

  It sounded fine, as far as it went. Yet when his fingers finished with his shirt buttons, they found the side of Mercy’s face and then slipped beneath her warm, silky hair. He knew he should stop there, but he couldn’t. Mike kissed her on the lips, his other hand finding the swell of her belly to span it protectively. He wanted to raise this child every bit as badly as he longed to plant his own in its place. And he refused to be ashamed of such desires!

  “I want to do more than help, Mercy,” he breathed as he broke away. “I love you. And I intend to have the last word on that!”

  “I suspect this’ll be the last of the longhorns we’ll see for the season.” Mike shifted in his saddle, ready to ride if any of those rangy beasts turned cantankerous. “They’re saying Abilene did such a booming business this year, all the stores are closing for the winter. Going to restock—and even enlarge! Getting ready for a stupendous season next year.”

  Mercy shielded her eyes from the late-October sun, watching Billy, Gabe, and the four dogs escort the small herd along the road. “I’ve laid in all the supplies I have room for, so let the stores close. It’ll give decent people a rest from all the carousing and lawlessness. At least these cattle were kind enough to leave me a little more fuel.”

  Malloy smiled. Though the woman beside him on the horse was by no means bubbling over with mirth yet, she could find a silver lining in the clouds of dust—and the cow pies—caused by the cattle drives. “Sure glad that mama dog had her pups in your barn. Saved you from a lot of damage.”

  “And I can’t imagine those two boys without their constant companions.” Mercy chuckled. “I’m not supposed to know it, but Spot and Snowy sleep upstairs. I’ve told Asa to bunk up there for the winter, too. No sense in him being cold and lonely in the barn.”

  “You want him nearby to make your breakfast every morning,” Malloy teased. “I hear you’ve become a regular sleepyhead. Never would’ve believed that about the tireless saint of the stagecoaching table.”

  Her sigh sounded a little weary even now, and he hoped he hadn’t overstepped her threshold for humor.

  “It’s the baby, I guess. The doctor pronounced me healthy, but warned me that all those hours on my feet would take their toll.”

  “Now, there’s an open invitation.” Leaning down, Mike grinned rakishly to make her smile back. “If I were your husband, I could massage those tired legs and rub your aching back . . . right here, where you’re going to sway forward when that baby gets bigger.”

  His hand drifted down to the spot he spoke of, pressing firmly at the base of her spine. When she leaned into his touch, hope ignited inside him.

  “If you were my husband, Michael Malloy, I’d keep you awake at night with my tossing and turning,” she challenged. “I’d exasperate you with my quicksilver mood changes, and my crying for no apparent reason—”

  “And I’d rejoice that it was me you shared it all with.” He lowered his face until their noses almost touched. “I’d chase away those moods and tears, so you would rejoice in me, as well. Marry me, Mercy. We’d be happy—”

  Her kiss nearly toppled him from his horse.

  His hand slipped behind her head, to hold her as he savored her sweet acceptance—and so she couldn’t break away until he’d shown her exactly how much he wanted her, how desirable he found her. Mercy’s mouth responded so eagerly, his pulse drowned out the shuffling of the last cattle and the possibility that two boys might be watching them. All he knew was the silk of her lips and the warmth of her breath . . . and the sigh that said she’d soon be his wife.

  “Well now, Miz Monroe!” a shrill voice called out. “So it’s true you didn’t waste any time findin’ a replacement for Judd.”

  Mercy jerked away from Mike’s embrace to see a surrey coming into the yard—and a very smug smile on Elizabeth Barstow’s face. Mercy’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, yet she wanted to hurl a fresh cow pie at this obnoxious woman.

  “Hello, Elizabeth,” she managed, wondering once again why she’d once considered this neighbor a good friend.

  And it wasn’t as if the widow Barstow was driving that jaunty surrey herself; the man beside her wore a fine vested suit with a wide-brimmed hat that had a huge ruby centered in its band. Between his portly build and her advancing pregnancy, it was a wonder the seat supported them. Mercy felt sorry for that fine-boned pony with the braided mane.

  Mike rode forward, his expression as stiff as the arm he extended. “Don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, eyeing the driver. “I’m Mike Malloy. And this fine woman is Mercedes Monroe.”

  “Obadiah Jones,” the man crowed with a heavy Texas accent. “Come up here to sell my cattle, and come away with a purty little heifer. Well, a bred heifer,” he added with a sugary smile at Elizabeth.

  “Obie and I got married yesterday,” she twittered, displaying another ruby that nearly hid her finger. “And after we left the justice of the peace, why, Obie bought us some furniture to start our new life on his ranch in Texas.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered with the exhilaration of it all, until she looked down from her surrey seat again. “I just had to come say good-bye, Mercy, and wish you well. Although you’ve obviously settled for sod busting on the prairie, with this fellow who runs the ruts for a living.”

  Mercy didn’t know whether to slap Elizabeth or spit in her fleshy face. She stepped back, her thoughts spinning like a dog chasing its tail.

  “Good-bye, Elizabeth,” she replied coolly. “And thank you for coming. I was afraid that Ira’s dying here had driven a wedge in our friendship. It’s good to see you’ve recovered so completely—and so very quickly!—from your loss.”

  Mercy crossed her arms over her bulging belly to signal the end of the conversation—and so she wouldn’t cry and cuss, while this insolent woman could witness it. With a nod, Mr. Jones clucked at his pretty pony.

  The surrey had barely made it to the road before Mercy cut loose. “Of all the vile—repulsive—disgraceful—”

  “That was the most disgusting display of hypocrisy I’ve ever seen,” Mike muttered, dismounting. “If you hadn’t sent them packing, I would have.”

  He pulled the bandana from his pocket and gently wiped her tears, as sorry for the hurt and confusion clouding her huge brown eyes as for the guilt he sensed would plague her for days.

  “We’ve done nothing wrong or dishonorable, honey,” he whispered. “Frankly, I could never figure out what Iry saw in that high-toned woman.”

  “She must’ve charmed him the same way she latched on to Obie,” Mercy sputtered.

  “And Obie will regret this hasty hitching by the time he gets that woman settled in Texas,” Malloy said. “Fast as this happened, they neither one know what they’ve gotten themselves into.”

  “And what about those four children? Where have they been during this whirlwind courtship?” Blowing loudly into Mike’s bandana, she composed herself again. “Aunt Agatha always taught us that if you can’t wish someone well, you can hope she’ll get what she so richly deserves. Politely, of course.”

  He wanted to laugh with her, but he sensed her retreat into sadness, shadowed by guilt and heartache that had nothing to do with him. It was part of her grieving, dredged up afresh by Elizabeth. Whatever he said would only rekindle her flaring emotions.

  “Why don’t you rest awhile, Mercy?” he suggested gently. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve had a little talk with that woman.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re not going to make her apologize?”

  “
No. I’m going to buy her land. Before somebody else snatches it up.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  December 18, 1867

  Happy Birthday, Sis!

  And Merry Christmas, while I’m at it. It’s been a while since we’ve heard from you, so I’m guessing you’ve been busy with things at the Academy. Maybe going to parties in those dresses you took along, or new ones you’ve made since then. Mercy hasn’t felt much like writing, so I’ll fill you in on some big changes out this way.

  First, the Cheyenne attack. A dozen pages can’t describe what it was like down in the cellar with Asa, Mercy, and the two dogs while we heard those war whoops overhead. Judd and Nathaniel gave their lives protecting us, and it was a sorry day when we stood over those graves. If it hadn’t been for Mike Malloy, I’m not sure what awful things we’d have seen. He took it hard—we all did. He’s been helping Mercy keep this place going, which is giving the neighbors a lot to talk about. Asa and I just let them talk. Malloy at least cares enough to DO something.

  Then, end of October, Elizabeth Barstow stopped by with her new husband. (Forgot to tell you that Iry died here, in the Cheyenne attack.) Fattest old snake you ever saw: While she was telling about going to Texas with this cattle baron, she was actually hissing about how stupid Mercy was to stay here on the homestead—and how sinful, letting Mike kiss her. But then, I’m sure you remember that woman’s forked tongue.

  Anyway, Mike went right on over to buy the Barstow land. Did you know he already had a place he was farming? I guess when he wasn’t driving these past couple years, he was planting wheat and grazing cattle. Now he’s quit Wells Fargo altogether. Says the stagecoaches won’t run much longer, on account of the railway goes almost all the way to Denver.

  Mercy doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to build a white frame house with a picket fence on the parcel of his land nearest Abilene. He showed me the plans for it—ordered them by mail, he did! He’s asked her to marry him, so she and the baby (oops, I forgot to tell you about THAT!) will have a nice home.

  But Mercy’s having a tough time of it. She misses Judd something fierce. I think she really likes Malloy—and I KNOW Judd would want her to take up with a man who cares so much for her. Asa says she’s torn between moving ahead, maybe betraying her husband’s memory, and keeping Judd alive in her mind. Thank goodness Asa can cook, because when the stagecoaches come through, Mercy can’t move fast enough to suit VanBuren.

  She’s pretty big with that baby, and I’m guessing come spring it’ll be here. Maybe then she’ll be happy again—and too busy to pine for Judd. This house gets so quiet when she stares into the fire that we can hear the wind whistling through the cracks in the logs. She says she’s tired from not sleeping good, but it looks to me like she’s listening for the sound of Judd coming in from chores. Or remembering the sound of his voice when he read from the Bible each night. I’m not near as good at that.

  Me, I stay busy with the horses, now that Nathaniel’s not here to hitch them to the stages or train them. You should see Mr. Lincoln! He’s nearly two, and while he might be the littlest fellow in the corral, he’s the feistiest, too. Already follows my voice commands—smart as they come. (Sounds a lot like me, don’t you think?)

  Spot and Snowy are asleep at my feet. Asa’s sleeping in your room for the winter—although I’d let him bunk over here in a minute if you’d come to visit! I’d sure like that! The snow’s been drifting deep, though, so you’d best wait for winter to blow through.

  Your brother,

  Billy

  P.S. No word from Mama. How about you?

  Mercy saw the boy slip his letter into the mailbag that would go out with tomorrow’s stagecoach. Such a shame that his sister didn’t write him once in a while. Christine was progressing well in her studies, according to Aunt Agatha’s occasional notes, but she had a mind of her own when it came to keeping up with correspondence. And at fifteen, she was much more interested in her circle of friends than in a brother she recalled as pesky and pint-sized.

  Billy would always be short and compact, a lot like Michael Malloy, she supposed. But his sister would be amazed at the way he’d filled out from working so hard around the homestead. With hair of a deeper rust now, and a face toughened by the sun and the wind, he had lost the pale, freckled look that often plagued redheaded males. When his blue eyes sparkled with mischief, Mercy saw the attractive man he would someday be—a man Emma Clark already considered hers!

  As Billy opened the Bible for their evening devotional, it was another man’s presence that unsettled her, however. At Asa’s insistence, they had invited Michael Malloy for dinner. She suspected it was the old cook’s excuse for serving pan-fried chicken and mashed potatoes instead of their usual corn cakes, or cornmeal mush, or corn chowder. Supplies were running low, and, as she’d anticipated, they relied upon the corn they’d saved back from the fall crop—the crop Judd had died defending—for a meal or two each day. The man across from her had offered to drive into town for groceries, but she’d deflected his help.

  What did it matter what she ate? She had as little taste for food as she had for living these days, although she put up a good front, for Billy’s sake.

  And as he opened to his passage, Mercy braced herself for another episode in the lives of the Holy Family. Without Judd here, Christmas was a farce. She’d stubbornly refused to put out the crèche or decorate a tree: why pretend she’d find meaning in that age-old story this year?

  Yet this morning, the stable and the porcelain figurines had appeared on the sideboard as if by magic, or a miracle of the season. Baby Jesus, of course, was in the drawer, but Mary and Joseph gazed at the manger with a glassy-eyed anticipation that seemed to her as false as her own pretenses this evening.

  She felt Michael gazing at her, and found a grease spot on her napkin that required study. Mercy let him place his hand over hers, but she didn’t return the pressure of his fingers. No sense in leading the poor man on, she simply wasn’t interested. The baby shifting in her oversized belly was the only sign of life she acknowledged these days. It took all her energy to believe her time would come and she would deliver—and live to tell about it.

  Billy cleared his throat. “From the Gospel according to Saint Matthew, the first chapter,” he began from his place at the head of the table. “ ‘Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise: When as his mother Mary was espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child . . .’”

  Mercy drifted on the cadence of his voice, letting the words roll by her. What did she need to hear about this woman who carried a child of mysterious origin? Or about the man who agreed to marry her anyway?

  “‘. . . the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife; for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost. And she shall bring forth . . .’”

  The hand atop hers tightened. She glanced up. The love she saw in Michael’s hazel eyes was so stunning, it scared her to death.

  Was Malloy devious enough to play upon this biblical passage to corner her? Ever since Elizabeth’s hints at her ruined reputation, Mercy had dodged his affection: She could not lower herself, as that woman had, to wed her way out of loneliness! Judd had married her for love, for her strengths and abilities. To cleave to another man for anything less was a betrayal of Judd’s faith in her.

  “ ‘Behold a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us. Then Joseph . . .’”

  Mercy looked quickly away from Michael. Such a fine man he was, so young and earnest in his affections—and what she wouldn’t give for a man’s strength and comfort right now!

  But it was too soon, and she was too vulnerable to the moods Judd’s baby created within her. To give in to Michael now would mean she couldn’t survive on her own. And that thought went against everything Mercy wanted to believe about herself.


  Or were these pleasant, warm sensations from the touch of his hand actually signs of her love for Michael Malloy? Why did these matters of the heart have to be so confusing? She didn’t dare look at him again, for fear she’d do something stupid—something they’d both regret.

  So Mercy gazed intently at the Holy Family, trying to find meaning in the words Billy read to them. Her gaze lingered on the figurine with the dark, wavy hair standing beside Mary at the manger. He suddenly looked so very much like Judd, her heartstrings snapped.

  With an agility she hadn’t felt for weeks, Mercy leapt up off the bench. Her heart thudded ominously as she strode to the sideboard and grabbed Joseph. He’d been in Judd’s family for generations, but she could bear no more of his perfect patience, his faithfulness to Mary—or his unquestioning obedience to God.

  “Let’s see how you like it, Mary! Try raising that child without your man!” she cried.

  Even as she threw Joseph, she regretted it. The figurine shattered against their wedding portrait, which had graced the mantel since Judd had built her this home. Then the framed photograph toppled, landing on the stone hearth atop Joseph’s china remains.

  Mercy stared at the shards that shimmered in the fire’s light, feeling extreme sorrow rather than the release she’d sought.

  The faces around her froze in horror. As one, Asa and Mike stood up, while Billy slowly set the Bible on the table, never taking his eyes off her. Their stricken expressions told her what she already knew: She was insane. Insane with grief for Judd. Insane with fear about how she’d raise his baby.

  “I’m sorry,” she rasped. “Please eat your dessert and leave me alone. I can’t bear this right now.”

  Before anyone could protest, Mercy hurried to her bedroom and closed the curtain with a decisive swish. They were men—they couldn’t possibly understand what she was going through! They would just have to indulge her.

  She sat on the edge of her bed, too agitated to lie down; listening to be sure they were eating, while she knew they listened to her, as well. Did they realize how impossible it was to sleep in this bed alone? This little makeshift room could never again be the haven where Judd’s embrace had chased away her fears, her doubts.