A Patchwork Family

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Stop blaming that baby. You know what changed Mercy’s mind.

  Mike kicked at the front of the carriage the way he wanted to kick himself. Not his doing, that Lucy Greene appeared after he’d stood up with Mercy in church. Not his doing, that Joel looked desperately for a daddy in every man he met. Was it?

  The truth about Lucy would’ve sounded a lot better right after the two women met. Now Mercy knows you’re hiding something. Arranging the details for when you finally tell her about it. Better be ready for a refusal, after that ultimatum you just gave her, idiot.

  He got Miss Vanderbilt and Christine to the Abilene station in record time. But it wasn’t gratitude he saw in the spinster’s face as the porter loaded their trunks.

  “Tell her the truth, Mr. Malloy,” the little woman said with an unwavering gaze. “Mercedes will see right through a lie and leave you behind. And rightfully so.”

  So it was “Mr. Malloy” again, was it?

  Mike saw them wave from their window and he waved back, but then he left. The horns of his dilemma jabbed him more sharply than a Texas steer’s, so seeing them off seemed trivial compared to the situation he had to set straight with Lucy Greene. She would be asleep now—hopefully alone. It was the best time to make his move.

  He drove through an awakening Abilene, aware that for every store and business establishment in the respectable section of town, three or four bawdy houses and saloons had sprung up. A savvy young madam named Mattie Silks had constructed an elegant, two-story mansion to house prettier, younger girls. Rumor had it she served only champagne and catered to an elite clientele—but Mike didn’t stop at her place. He parked nearby, however, because the sharps and bawds farther down might spot his new carriage and think they needed it more than he did.

  He walked down Texas Street lost in his thoughts. How would he tell Lucy he couldn’t help her anymore—even to buy a few groceries? She’d insisted he shouldn’t worry about her or feel responsible for Joel, but that had never set right with him. Though he’d only bedded her once, under unfortunate circumstances, it seemed providential that Lucy had shown up in Abilene about a year after he did, with a baby boy who stole his heart at first sight.

  She understood that his new, adult life didn’t include her. She tried to spare him the sordid details of a trade she’d entered into out of sheer desperation.

  But what sort of life would Joel have if someone didn’t help his mother out of the gutter?

  Loud voices drew him from his musings. It seemed early for a barroom brawl to spill out into the street, yet four men circled each other like suspicious vultures. They didn’t sound drunk, they sounded outraged, over some sort of investment venture. As they backed away from each other, their pistols flickered in the sunlight.

  “You lousy, cheatin’ son of a—”

  “Hey! I’m going by what the contract said!”

  Malloy walked faster. Lucy’s room was upstairs in the saloon behind them, and he wanted to arrive in one piece.

  He had not figured on seeing her in a doorway, obviously taking shelter from the four-way fight. And the last thing he needed was for Joel to spot him right now.

  “You owe me a thousand bucks, you no-good—”

  “He paid you half of that! I was there when—”

  “Papa! Papaaa!”

  Malloy’s heart flew up into his throat as the little boy squirmed out of his mother’s arms. For a toddler, Joel had amazing strength and agility—so he ran right through the middle of the squared-off men brandishing their pistols.

  “Joel! Joel, no!” Lucy cried. And she followed him, as any mother would.

  Mike was too scared to see what happened next. As he ran hell-bent toward the little boy, he heard startled exclamations and at least two shots. Followed by a scream that could only be female.

  By the time Lucy hit the ground in a puddle of blue satin and blood, all four men were disappearing in different directions. Abilene still had no organized law enforcement, but none of the men wanted to be seen near this woman of dubious repute, let alone assist her, with a smoking pistol in his hand.

  “Lucy? Lucy?” Mike called out as he grabbed her little boy.

  A groan escaped her. “Michael,” she gasped. “Michael—Joel—”

  “I’ve got him right here. He’s all right, but we’ve got to get you—” He knelt beside her to assess her wounds, his arm firmly around the terrified little boy, who was starting to cry.

  “Doctor!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Somebody get a doctor!”

  She was gut-shot and losing blood at an alarming rate. And as Mike pressed his palm against the nearest crimson stain in her blue dress, he saw his promises to Mercy Monroe growing as pale and lifeless as the woman lying beside him.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Mercy clambered down from the wagon with Asa’s help, and then took Lily and Solace as Billy handed them to her in their baskets. Thank goodness for Hattie and Boots, who barked an eager greeting to their two dogs, and for Emma’s delighted cry at seeing the boy she was sweet on. It was May Day: her first birthday without Judd, and the anniversary of a marriage that had kept the promise of “ ’til death do us part.” She needed every possible distraction to keep from sagging like a soggy handkerchief.

  And why had Michael not returned? She didn’t want to think about that, either.

  She put on a smile for lanky, bespectacled Gabriel, who came running up behind his pretty cousin. “Did you bring us a pie, Asa?” he asked. “Wouldn’t be a party without that!”

  “Yessir, I did myself proud,” the old Negro replied with a wide grin. “Not only cherry and apple raisin, but a buttermilk custard one, too. It’s not pumpkin, but I think you boys’ll eat it anyway.”

  “Yeah, we can probably choke some down,” Billy teased. “C’mon, Gabe! Let’s get these benches outta the back. Folks’ll be gettin’ here soon.”

  Mercy glanced around the neat little yard, situated between the corrals and a small log house. It felt strange, having their gathering here, yet she was grateful for the Clarks’ hospitality today. When Emma crouched between the two baby baskets, she smiled at how this blond tomboy had undoubtedly worn her newest dress, of sky-blue calico with ribbon trim, to impress Billy.

  The girl lifted Lily to her shoulder. “So here’s that little bundle of joy somebody dropped on your doorstep. Why, she looks just like a doll!”

  “Miss Lily’s a charmer when she wants to be,” Mercy agreed. “Once she starts walking, the rest of us’ll be going at a trot to keep up with her.”

  Lily giggled, making the golden curls shimmy around her head, as though she knew what a princess she was.

  “And what a pretty red dress, Mercy!” Emma gushed. “You’re gussied up like it’s a special occasion.”

  Mercy decided not to say how old she felt today. “My Aunt Agatha gave me this gown for Christmas a couple years ago, and I’m celebrating the fact that I can get into it,” she said in the steadiest voice she could manage.

  “And that color becomes you like nothing I’ve ever seen.” Rachel Clark came up beside them, eyeing her new dress with envy. “All of us admire how you refused to dye everything black, and the way you’ve kept Judd’s memory alive by keeping yourself that way. Takes a special kind of woman to do that.”

  Well, now! She’d never heard this slender, soft-spoken woman string so many sentences together. Mercy was thinking of how to respond when Nell Fergus scooped up her daughter with a grin as big as Kansas.

  “And look at Solace, how she’s grown! No doubt who this one’s daddy is!”

  Yes, I see him each time I look at her. Depending on how lonely she felt at any given moment, her daughter’s resemblance to Judd could be a boon or a bane. Mercy blinked rapidly, determined not to put a damper on everyone’s day.

  “It’s so nice of you to host the party this time,” she remarked. “What with the two babies and—”

  “Well, it’s high time the rest of us took a turn,” Rachel
replied. “Lord knows you have your hands full these days. And now that Reverend Larsen has a church in town, and the stages aren’t running but once a week, who knows how much longer we’ll meet this way?”

  “We’ve seen a lot of progress since we settled here.” Waving at George Clark, who was helping the boys arrange the benches, Mercy fought a pang of envy. Being a woman alone wasn’t one of the better changes this life on the prairie had brought her.

  “Without the help of all my neighbors, the corn wouldn’t be planted and I’d have to consider going back East,” she continued softly. “Even though I miss some of the conveniences, I’m not sure I’d fit in again.”

  “We’ve gotten used to doing things our own way,” Nell agreed. “Nothing like life in a log house to teach you how resourceful you can be.”

  Now there was a thought.

  And as other wagons rolled in, with the friends who’d seen her through the valley of the shadow, Mercy felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Yes, she missed her parents and the rest of her family. Yes, her days felt impossibly full with these two little girls demanding so much of her time. But she belonged here now. To return to that privileged niche of acquiring gowns and jewelry, just to rival her friends at parties, would be a denial of the life she and Judd had forged for themselves.

  It would be an admission of defeat, too. Her parents would smugly remind her of that as they went about finding her a suitable match.

  No, thank you! that voice in her head cried out. Happy birthday to me!

  With a smile on her face—a real one this time—Mercy greeted Gregor Larsen and the other families, who made much of the two girls and complimented her new dress. Never mind that she was twenty-nine! Though she’d realized her dream of motherhood only to lose Judd in the process, hers was still a life blessed with fertile land, and a family she’d never anticipated, and friends who would see her through the coming years.

  With her girls on either side of her, Mercy took her seat as Reverend Larsen called everyone to worship. The sun felt warm on her face. The spring breeze whispered its promise in her ear—

  And Billy was up to something.

  He stood beside the preacher now, shifting from one foot to the other. “You prob’ly don’t know it,” he said over the noise of the crowd, “but we need to start this party with a special surprise—’cause it’s Mercy’s birthday! Come on out here, Asa!”

  Her face went hot. Applause began as a slow ripple, until everyone stood up to congratulate her. And here came her faithful friend, carrying a tall, decorated cake he’d stashed in the wagon without her knowing it.

  “Happy birthday, Miss Mercy!” he crowed. “We’re glad to help you celebrate this day.”

  The colored cook pulled a match from his pocket and struck it against the bench, to light the single candle that rose like a steeple from his creation. “Now make a wish! And make it a good one!”

  Flustered—for everyone was watching—Mercy closed her eyes. What on earth should she ask for? What wish did she most want to come true?

  “Well, hey there, Michael Malloy! High time you showed up!” Billy cried.

  Mercy’s eyes flew open. A murmur rose from the crowd, like the purr of a curious cat. Despite these past weeks of doubt and disappointment in this man, she turned to watch him ride in on his horse.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Knowing her face matched her crimson dress—and knowing everyone was watching—she whispered to Asa to mind the girls for a moment. Then she strode toward the horseman whose hazel eyes burned into hers as though he had a right to gaze at her that way.

  “Mercy!” he said with a big grin. “If I’d known today was your—”

  “I thought you were ready for my yes or no,” she began in a low voice.

  She crossed her arms to glare at him. If he thought he could just show up with that loose woman’s little boy in his lap, well—she’d let him know different! She felt no inclination to be quiet and polite about it anymore.

  “For weeks I’ve been ready to talk—like you wanted,” she added in a sharp whisper, “and you were the last man I’d figured for a coward, Mister Malloy. You could have at least—”

  “I was tending to Lucy. Had to get her buried and—”

  “Is this boy your son, Michael?”

  His arm tightened protectively around Joel, who sat listlessly against him. Mike knew she’d tolerate no hesitation on his part, nor any embellishment of the truth. Telling her how gorgeous she looked in that red dress wouldn’t help him any, either.

  “He is now,” Michael replied. “His mama got caught in the crossfire of—”

  “Mama?” the little boy chirped sadly. “Mama?”

  When Joel raised his head to look at her, Mercy’s heart stopped. A more forlorn little creature she’d never seen. His sandy waves dangled past his eyebrows, and his frown looked so melancholy, she knew Michael was telling the truth about Lucinda Greene’s death. But that still didn’t explain—

  “Mama?” Joel asked more loudly.

  The sun peeked out in that cloudy little face as he studied Mercy with the profound eyes of a child whom life had tossed aside. Then his arms shot out, and before Michael could catch him, he lunged at her.

  “Mama!” he shouted. “Papa, it’s Mama!”

  Mercy caught him, of course. What else could she do? Her eyes closed and her heart thudded, and she held on to him for dear life. To keep him from falling and hurting himself, of course. But also because she’d never known how very, very sweet it sounded when somebody called her Mama.

  Michael dismounted, knowing an opportune moment when he saw one. “You see how it is?” he whispered. “I couldn’t just leave him at an orphanage. Couldn’t trust somebody else to care for him, so—”

  “Is Joel your son, Michael?”

  Mercy looked into his eyes for signs that he’d orchestrated this little drama to play upon her sympathies. But she saw only a wondrous love as Michael laid his hand on Joel’s back while she held the boy.

  Well, really the boy was holding her. Not much way to refuse him, when his arms were wound around her neck and his head rested blissfully against her shoulder.

  “He could be,” Malloy admitted, praying Mercy wouldn’t be repelled by a regrettable moment in his past. “When I came home from the war, to find Ma dead and buried, I was so upset I got liquored up with a couple buddies I’d soldiered with. We went to visit Lucy in her upstairs room at the tavern,” he continued, closing his eyes against memories of that distorted day. “We three heroes were so glad to see a pretty girl, and so full of ourselves at seventeen, that we—”

  “You were only seventeen and you’d been to war?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured. “And we’d handled our Henry rifles with more respect than we showed for Miss Greene that day. Not long after that, I hired on as an overland stage driver. Lucy showed up in Abilene about a year later, thinking ladies of her profession could make out pretty well in our up-and-coming town. But she had a baby. That’s no kind of life for a mother and her child.”

  Mercy considered these details, swaying from side to side when Joel got restless. “This little boy could belong to any number of men who—”

  “After the way I’d treated her, I felt responsible,” he stated, his hazel eyes alight with conviction. “Which is why I looked in on her occasionally, even though I never bedded her again. Her life and mine were separate, Mercy. She took that money for groceries and for Joel’s sake.”

  Malloy pressed on, despite how tawdry things must look to this virtuous woman. She was his best chance for happiness. It wasn’t particularly an advantage that he was bringing her yet another child . . . one more child than she had hands to manage now.

  “I meant it every time I said I loved you,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Lucy when you needed to hear it most. I should’ve sent word, I know, but I’ve been pretty busy.”

  The crowd behind them had gone silent, probably straining to hear hi
s every word. It would be so easy to accuse this handsome man of manipulating her, perhaps as he himself had been manipulated. Yet Mercy sensed he was playing the hand fate had dealt him as best he could. Just like she was.

  Joel relaxed into a deep, contented sleep on her shoulder.

  “So nobody will ever know whose boy he is?” she asked. Stalling, mostly, because now that Michael had answered her questions, he deserved the same of her. Lord knows he’d been waiting for an answer longer than she had.

  “Well, he’s somebody’s son,” Malloy insisted. “I consider him mine, because I believe Joel was God’s way of telling me to grow up. I—I can understand if you don’t want—”

  “Hey, is ever’thing all right over here?”

  They turned to see Billy approaching, watching them with intense blue eyes. When he stopped beside her, Mercy sensed he was defending her honor—or making sure Michael Malloy wasn’t talking her into something.

  Which, of course, he was.

  “Well, Billy, Michael’s been taking care of Joel because his mother got shot,” she said, dipping down so he could see who slept against her shoulder.

  Billy gazed warily into the boy’s face. “This is the kid who called Michael his daddy, ain’t it? After we baptized Solace and that lady in the . . . showy blue dress come out to talk to him.”

  “Yes. And—knowing how Michael has always looked after children—you’re not surprised he’s claiming Joel, are you?”

  He speared his fingers through his auburn hair. “You was awful aggravated at him after you met that other woman.”

  “Yes, but I understand the circumstances now.” With an apologetic glance at Michael, she added, “If I’d asked him about her that day instead of stewing in my assumptions, I wouldn’t have spent so much time and energy being aggravated.”

  Billy gently lifted Joel’s hair for a better look at him. A smile dawned on his face.

  “Little kids’re cute when they’re sleepin’, ain’t they?” Billy murmured. “And when you’re a kid, you love your mother no matter what she does. And you miss her somethin’ fierce when she’s gone.”