A Patchwork Family

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “And the detail on this Wells Fargo wagon is stunning! I don’t recall you being such an artist, Mercedes.”

  She shrugged, looking pleased. “I stitched whatever felt important on any given day. Or what I could bear to think about in the wake of Judd’s death.”

  “And of course we know who the man with the mustache is, driving the stagecoach.” Miss Vanderbilt’s grin flickered Mike’s way, yet when she stepped back, her expression waxed more cautious. “I don’t mean to upset you, dear, but . . . where’s Judd?”

  Christine let out a long sigh, holding Solace closer.

  “Step back here and you’ll see him,” she murmured, her green eyes bright with tears. “Those dark, parted clouds? They’re his hair. And the two birds are his long eyelashes, there in the sunrise. He’s wearing a shirt the color of the sky, and his fingers form the ruts in the road.”

  She blinked rapidly, her voice grown hoarse with emotion. “Judd’s watching over us. Holding us all in the palms of his hands.”

  “Amen to that,” Billy whispered.

  Chapter Thirty

  Just as sunshine brought comfort after a rain—and chased away the winter’s snow—Aunt Agatha’s and Christine’s presence restored a rightness to Mercy’s days. They couldn’t stay long, as the academy’s classes would resume after Easter. But once the clouds of doubt and misinterpretation were cleared away, Solace became the sun they all revolved around.

  “Look at that dimple! And those blue, blue eyes,” Christine cooed.

  That the girl had been enamored of Judd, and missed him terribly, shone through everything she did and said. Yet Mercy took tremendous pleasure in watching the interplay between this stunning young woman—now sixteen—and the baby who openly adored her. Christine had a real talent for talking in just the right tone, swaying and singing just enough, so that Solace never fussed while in her arms.

  Glancing at Billy, Mercy considered a subject that had gone undiscussed long enough. “Forgive me if I sound insensitive or impolite,” She began cautiously, “but it’s difficult to believe you’re the same Christine Bristol who swore she’d never return, and who refused to write to her brother—or me—for a long time. Dare I hope you’ve grown up, young lady?”

  Christine’s face flushed a becoming pink, while Aunt Agatha let out a smug chuckle. “So you’ve noticed that, have you? It seems that once our girl got a glimpse of those less fortunate while working at the orphanage, she gained a whole new perspective on what really matters. She took to those little children from her first day there—perhaps because she, too, was once abandoned.”

  “Well, isn’t that progress!” Mercy said, lighting up with a smile. “Though I know you’ll never fuss over Billy the way you adore my daughter—”

  At this, both Bristols rolled their eyes.

  “—at least something positive was going on while we were apart. No doubt the Lord was at work without you suspecting His direction,” she continued. “And I’m grateful for your way with babies, believe me!”

  Christine grinned. “Who wouldn’t love a little sweetheart like Solace?”

  “I remember holding you when you were this size,” Aunt Agatha remarked wistfully. She gazed into Solace’s impish face, tapping that tiny upturned nose with her fingertip. “You shrieked and screamed as though I’d clawed you with my fingernails. As I think back, I was so afraid I’d drop you, I probably held on too tightly.”

  Mercy smiled. It was an unexpected joy to share her daughter with these two. And a treat to hear how she’d once intimidated the fearless Agatha Vanderbilt without even trying.

  “That must be where Solace gets her loud voice,” Billy said matter-of-factly. “I tell ya, when she starts squallin’, the dogs run for cover. Even the dang horses prick up their ears and start prancin’ out in the corral.”

  “You cuss too much,” his sister chided him. “You’ll have—”

  “You bring it out in me, Miss Priss!”

  “—this little girl talking the same way if . . . Billy, how can you say that?” Christine’s fist went to her hip, probably the same way their mother’s had. “Your mouth’s going to send you straight to the devil for bearing false witness against your sister!”

  Widening his blue eyes to mock her, the boy shrugged. “Least I ain’t worried about his pointy ole pitchfork jabbin’ my backside—cause yours’ll already be on it! Now let me hold her. You’ve been hoggin’ her ever since—”

  “You’ll drop her sure as—”

  “Actually, Billy handles her very well,” Mercy said above their sparring. Now it sounded like old times again. “She seems to remember that he brought her into this world. One look at him and Solace stops her crying.”

  “Yes, well,” Christine said with a roll of her eyes, “a face like Billy’s would leave anyone speechless. Here—but be careful!”

  With the same natural grace he showed around the horses and dogs, the boy slipped his arm beneath Solace’s body so her head lay cradled in his hand.

  “Yeah, what do they know?” he asked the baby in a shameless sing-songy voice. “Come the time when you’re walkin’, talkin’, and housebroke, Solace, you’re gonna be all mine. We’ll herd cattle with the dogs, and train horses for competition, and—”

  “I hope your plans will allow us a chance to dress Miss Solace in ribbons and lace,” said Aunt Agatha. She’d gone upstairs while the Bristols caught up on their bickering, and she handed Mercy a box wrapped in pretty paper with yellow ribbon. “I would love nothing more than to be present when she wears this christening gown.”

  Mercy fumbled with the ribbons in her excitement. “Oh, Aunt Agatha! You made my gown, as I recall!”

  “Yes, and I’d have freshened it for Solace,” she replied with one arched eyebrow, “but someone we know dressed her mama cat in it, and then wandered away before Tabby had her kittens.”

  “It looked like a wedding dress!” Mercy countered, imploring Billy and Christine to see her side, “and I thought anyone having babies should be married!”

  “An astute observation.”

  Aunt Agatha looked at her pointedly, but Mercy finished unwrapping her package. This was a favorite topic of Michael’s, too, and whatever she said would be repeated to him.

  “ ‘To everything there is a season,’ “ Mercy remarked coyly, and then her joking tone gave way to an exclamation of pure awe. “Aunt Agatha! This is absolutely gorgeous!”

  “Yes, it is. Christine designed and sewed the dress—including all those little seed pearls down the front tucks—and I made the lace.”

  “I don’t suppose that circuit rider will be coming around soon?” Christine asked. “Not that he’ll want to see me again, but I’d be honored to attend Solace’s christening.”

  “He’s got him a new church in town now,” Billy said. “The road’ll be clear enough if you want to go this Sunday.”

  “Palm Sunday,” Aunt Agatha joined in with a nod. “An auspicious day for a triumphal entry into Abilene.”

  Mercy let them chatter while she studied the minute details of the ivory gown: row upon row of delicate lace coming up from the hem, and forming a vee from the shoulder seams to the bottom of the tucked, beaded bodice. While she was eager to worship with a congregation in a real church again, what would she wear? What could she wriggle into, so soon after Solace’s birth?

  “And if the idea of a new dress appeals to you,” the little spinster continued slyly, “Christine thought you’d enjoy attending services in a gown from the latest Godey’s Lady’s Book—which she’ll make from one of the lengths of fabric we brought along.”

  Mercy met the girl’s green-eyed gaze and saw a plea for something to do out here on the snowy plains. And how could she not accept this offering of Christine’s obvious talent? The art of graciously giving and receiving came hard for the girl, but it appeared the academy’s headmistress was making headway. And Mercy would be the recipient, for a change!

  “Easter it is! Truly a time for rebirth,�
�� she agreed, crossing the room to hug her aunt and then Christine. “And thank you for understanding my needs as only other women can.”

  “And what is the Christian name by which you’d like this child baptized?”

  Gregor Larsen’s accent carried over the congregation gathered in this new sanctuary, and for a moment Mercy was transported back to the services she attended before she married Judd. What a joy to have an organ playing the Easter hymns! And to have polished wooden pews with backs on them!

  “Solace,” she replied. “Solace Monroe.”

  “What a splendid name for this lamb of God. She will bring comfort and joy to everyone she meets.” The pastor gazed into the baby’s face as though he couldn’t get enough of her wispy dark waves, distinctive little eyebrows, and long, curving lashes. “She’s the image of her father. Just as we are every one created in the image of God, the Father of us all.”

  As he gently touched her scalp with water, Mercy couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat. Although Aunt Agatha and the Bristol children stood to her right, while Michael and Asa completed this arc of love and support on her other side, the man she longed for wasn’t here.

  When Reverend Larsen charged her to raise this child in the ways of Christ, she realized anew what an overwhelming responsibility she faced. She took Solace into her arms with a tear dribbling down each cheek, crying for the solemn joy of this occasion, but also out of desperation.

  Who did she think she was, assuming she could handle a homestead and provide for this child? How would the fields get planted? And without the income from her cooking, how would she get by?

  What if the Indians come again? Who will they murder this time?

  Mercy blinked, aware that the pastor was smiling at her, prompting her to sit down.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, grateful for the hand Michael placed on her elbow and the grin Billy flashed her.

  The rest of the service went by in a blur as Mercy gazed into the sweet, sleeping face of her baby. Oh, to feel so utterly confident that all was right with the world! To know that all needs would be met, and all matters were in the hands of the Lord. Judd had always believed these things without a second thought or a glance backward. Why couldn’t she? Why did her faith waver?

  A triumphal chorus on the organ announced the last hymn, and then the benediction rang in the rafters—and then Michael Malloy’s hazel eyes were gazing into hers as music swelled around them in a majestic postlude.

  “Those vows about raising Solace? I took them right along with you,” he said beneath the chatter around them.

  Mercy’s mouth fell open. The intensity of his expression—the utter sincerity of his remark—wiped away all rational thought. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do, sweetheart.” His lips curved with elation. “I don’t know how it’ll all work out, but I still intend to be the man in your family, Mercy. And on the way home, you’ll see how I’ve built upon my best intentions.”

  She’d heard his proposals before. She’d always admired Michael Malloy, for being a man of his word and a man of action. She’d always liked him, for his open smile and his enthusiasm. Today, he looked extremely handsome in a suit of dark fawn wool. And then there was the way that mustache curved around those lips . . . just one of the things that made him so very different from the husband she’d loved.

  “You gonna let us out of this pew? Or do we have to stand here all day gawkin’ atcha?”

  The impish grin on Billy’s face made her laugh despite the way everyone in the pew had been watching her talk quietly to Michael. As though no one else existed.

  She stepped into the aisle, cradling Solace in the crook of her arm, and felt his hand at the small of her back. As though it belonged there. As though it were the most natural of gestures for them to share. Mercy felt Christine’s curious gaze, too—not to mention the way her aunt sidled up beside her, acting as a chaperone without even thinking about it.

  Exasperated at their snail’s pace, Billy stepped around them. “Why don’t you two just get hitched?” he teased. “Then we wouldn’t have to watch those cow-eyed looks you’re givin’ him.”

  “I do not give him—”

  But the boy was already slipping through the crowd, toward the door.

  “Do, too,” Aunt Agatha murmured.

  Mercy let out an exasperated sigh. Why did everyone else see things she swore she wasn’t feeling? She again thanked Reverend Larsen at the door, and then stepped outside. What a relief to feel the spring air, and to have safer subjects to talk about.

  Even on this Easter Sunday, merchants were pounding nails and putting up new signs for the businesses they’d expanded over the winter. A sense of great anticipation seemed to drive them, and many called to Michael from upper windows and rooftops.

  “Didn’t recognize you in those fancy duds, Malloy!”

  “Hey, we’ve got a hammer to fit your hand!”

  “That your little lady? The one you’ve been braggin’ on?”

  Michael waved back as though he’d known them for years; as though he played an important part in up-and-coming Abilene.

  Mercy’s cheeks went hot. It felt different, being hailed as another man’s woman. Especially since she hadn’t said yes yet. She wondered if Michael had parked his new carriage so far from the church to show her off . . . which wasn’t a bad thing. Just something she wasn’t used to, after her years on the homestead with Judd.

  She noticed then, standing beneath a sign that said Texas Street, a dark-haired woman holding her little boy. He was kicking to get down, fussing in a torrent of baby talk that made his sandy curls shimmy around his head.

  “Must be about two,” Christine remarked. “No telling what he’ll do if she gives him his way.”

  Mercy smiled, seeing herself in that situation with Solace someday.

  And yet, as they got closer, she had the distinct impression this woman hadn’t come from Sunday services. Her shawl was draped low over exposed shoulders. She wore a bright blue gown that displayed her bosom to best advantage as she lowered her son to the street. She smiled at Michael as though she knew him—or certainly wanted to.

  “Good morning, Michael. And don’t you look dashing on this fine Easter morning!” she called out.

  “Good morning to you, Miss Lucy. And how’s Joel today?” He crouched to the little boy’s level, holding out his arms.

  Joel’s face lit up and he lunged joyfully. “Papa! Mama!” he crowed. “Papa come see Joel! Go for walk now!”

  “Yes, it’s a fine day for a walk, little man.” Scooping the boy up, Mike turned to them, grinning. “Joel and Lucinda Greene, this is Mercy Monroe holding Solace, and her Aunt Agatha Vanderbilt, and Christine Bristol—whose brother Billy has run ahead to the carriage—and Asa Thomas. We’re on our way back from baptizing Solace, so it’s a fine day all around.”

  “Well, how nice for you.” Lucinda studied them with dark, speculative eyes. “And what a sweet little angel in her lacy gown. You must be very happy, Mrs. Monroe.”

  Mercy caught a whiff of—was that liquor on Lucinda’s breath? It took all her strength not to jerk away when the woman stepped close enough to admire her daughter. This woman whose little boy called Michael his papa.

  “It’s been a lovely occasion, indeed,” Aunt Agatha filled in with a crisp nod. “And what a handsome young man you have here.”

  The lines on the woman’s face softened and she looked ten years younger. “Oh, yes—Joel’s my pride and joy, he is. Come to Mama now, sweetie. These folks need to go—”

  “No! Go with Papa!” The boy’s face contorted, and he began to wail as Michael handed him back to his mother.

  “We’ll see you again, Joel.” He reached into his pocket for his money clip. “Take care of your mother, now.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Lucinda gripped the folded bills he slipped her, and then wrapped her arms around her toddler as though she anticipated a struggle. “He gets so excited when he’s out and abo
ut. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  “A pleasure meeting you,” Aunt Agatha called in her most elegant voice.

  But the woman had already started down Texas Street—and it couldn’t happen soon enough to suit Mercy. Her aunt’s gentility amazed her, but then, the headmistress of Miss Vanderbilt’s Academy for Young Ladies had devoted her life to the handling of such situations. She was no doubt in high form as an example to Christine, leading the way to the carriage as though nothing unseemly had just happened.

  And, since Mercy had no way to express the assumptions and fears spinning in her head, she, too, reverted to that ultimate hallmark of decorum: She would say nothing if she couldn’t say anything nice. As they walked at a brisker pace, she felt the inquisitive gaze of green eyes. She covered her agitation by gawking at merchandise displayed in one big window after another.

  “Quite a change from the time we took you to Doc Moon’s log cabin, isn’t it?” she asked Christine cheerfully. “Just look at these new stores and hotels!”

  “And the saloons and bawdy houses,” her aunt remarked drily. “It’s a wonder they all expect to stay in business.”

  “A month from now these streets’ll be crowded with Texas cowpokes and cattle barons,” Michael remarked with a sweep of his arm. “Nonstop commerce, whether it be trading in longhorns, or providing food and rooms, or selling supplies. All because the railroad came through—and because Joseph McCoy wouldn’t let government regulations limit his ambitions.”

  “And will you be taking up residence here?”

  Mercy winced. Aunt Agatha sounded like a father quizzing his daughter’s prospective fiancé. Why was everyone so determined to bring them together? Especially now that they’d met Lucy Greene?

  “No, ma’am,” he answered with a shake of his head. “I was lucky enough to latch onto land the railroad first sold to pay its way. Then I bought the Barstow homestead when Elizabeth took off with that Texas cattle baron. I planted eighty acres of Turkey Red last September, and I plan to sow more this fall.”