The Edge of Mercy

by Heidi Chiavaroli

  I half hoped that Pete would get tied up at one o’clock. Essie would say I was being a baby. Maybe I was. Maybe I shouldn’t have piled on more hours to my schedule. Maybe then I wouldn’t see Pete so much. Maybe then I’d be in Plymouth, piecing together Elizabeth’s story. Or hiring a private investigator to find Mary. Or listing Barb’s house.

  Anything but having lunch with a guy.

  But Pete waited at the nurses’ station at one sharp, and we walked to the elevator together. I hoped Jen didn’t see.

  The doors closed behind us, shutting us in. The pulse at my throat pounded. The air hung thick and stuffy.

  “Hope I’m not out of line asking,” Pete said. “Gets kind of lonely eating by myself day after day.”

  I shrugged. “Not at all.”

  But my racing heart belied my words. Something didn’t feel right about this. Something didn’t feel quite so innocent. And while that something may very well be all on my part, it was still there—ugly, clawing for attention.

  I thought about Elizabeth defying her culture’s mores by going to visit Abram. That had taken courage. But lunch out in the open for all to see? What was wrong with me? I definitely needed to lighten up.

  The elevator doors opened and I sucked in the fresh air from the outside. We took a left toward the cafeteria.

  “So is your crazy news all settled down now?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t say settled, but it’s definitely gotten interesting. It’s not so secret, though.”

  “I’d love to hear about it. When I first saw you that day in the hall, you looked like someone just drove over your puppy.”

  It was nice that he cared. That someone cared. And although I hated myself for it, I couldn’t help but think how Matt hadn’t once asked how I was handling Barb’s death. He hadn’t been there to see how hurt I’d been, how shaken up I was that Barb had left me with everything, even her dying wish. Was it surprising that I would want to open up to someone who asked?

  We entered the cafeteria, where smells of chicken and grease met us. We grabbed trays and started down the food line. I picked up a salad, a plastic-covered fruit bowl, and a water. Pete chose the chicken pot pie and potato salad. When I reached for cash in the pocket of my scrubs, he shooed my money away. After paying, he led me to a spot by the window. Outside, a robin hopped along the green grass of the courtyard.

  “My neighbor—the one that died,” I started.

  He nodded, didn’t move to pick up his fork.

  I uncovered my salad and poured Caesar dressing over the top. “She was old. But the news is she left me with everything. Along with an odd request. It involves transcribing a super-old journal that’s at a museum in Plymouth. It’s all just . . . yeah, crazy.”

  Pete swallowed a bite of his chicken. “Whoa.”

  I shook my head. “Right? Aren’t you glad you asked?”

  “No—I mean, yeah, I am. It’s not every day you hear of a commission given beyond the grave.”

  I laughed. “Guess not.”

  “So how far along are you with the transcribing?”

  “I’d say about a quarter, but it’s slow going.” I waved a hand through the air. “Enough about that. Tell me about you. What made you want to be a doctor?”

  “My grandmother battled cancer all of my growing-up years before it finally took her my senior year of high school. To her, the nurses and doctors who took care of her were heroes. I guess I wanted to be one too.”

  My heart softened at the transparent answer. “The patients love you. I’m sure your grandmother would have been proud.”

  He smiled and the sight of it did something funny to my insides. “Thanks—that means a lot.”

  I fought for a firm place, something to ground us. I should bring up Matt, or Kyle, maybe. “You have any kids?”

  He shook his head. “I keep telling myself it’s all in God’s timing, but I’m sure not getting any younger.” He wiped his mouth with one of the rough hospital napkins I often used on the patients. “I was engaged once, six years ago. She broke it off two months before the wedding. Said my patients always came before her. It’s not easy, you know? I’m on call a lot, I work long days and a lot of weekends. I care about my patients. I didn’t think that was a bad thing.”

  “It’s not. Of course it’s not.”

  “I just always thought there would be room for both. A family and my patients. Maybe not.” He grinned at me. “You going to lay me on a couch and start charging soon?”

  “I wouldn’t make anybody pay for my advice,” I whispered.

  Red warning flags went off in my head as soon as I spoke the sentence. I shouldn’t open up to this man. Maybe I was the one who needed to see a shrink. First, I spoke with a sick old woman recovering from a heart attack, now an attractive doctor. Not the wisest decisions.

  Pete must have read my mind. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pry, even if I want to. But I will be honest with you. I did hear some of what you said to Mrs. Rhineheart. If you ever do need someone to talk to, I’m here, okay? And I won’t even charge you.”

  “Thanks.” I appreciated his transparency, but something about his words put me on edge, as if I shouldn’t simply take them at face value.

  Still, in the last month, Matt showed neither interest nor care. It was nice to feel a little of both.

  We cleared our trays and walked back to the elevators while Pete asked about Kyle. Before the doors opened to the third floor, he faced me. I studied the strong lines of his chiseled face. Really, how was he not married yet?

  “That was nice. Maybe we can do it again sometime?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Pete. It was nice.”

  And it was. Though I had to admit, it didn’t feel terribly professional.

  Chapter 14

  May 10, 1675

  I went to see him today.

  I know I should not have, but the chores were done and Papa slept soundly in his bed. He told me yesterday ’twould not be long before Mr. Tanner asks for my hand. I took that to mean he has asked Papa’s permission, and Papa has granted it. I expect to be wed after the harvest.

  Yet I am not wed today. And today I thought to do as I like. I ran in the woods. I ran fast. I ran with my skirts hitched high above my knees and my feet leaping over rocks and knobby roots. If Mr. Tanner had seen me, he would have scolded. Andia would have swooned.

  I did not care. The wind hit my face. Pine branches swatted my arms. I breathed in freedom.

  When I came upon Abram’s rock, I slowed even as my breaths raced. Abram sat in front of the large cave beside a fire. He twirled a squirrel on a spit. When he saw me, he stood.

  “You have come.”

  I was not so hesitant to draw near him this time. “Yes, I have come.”

  He gestured to a flat rock near his own seat. “Sit and eat?”

  I nodded and took the seat. When he bowed his head to pray in his own language, I did the same, though I wondered if he prayed to some god unknown to me. He broke off a piece of the squirrel and extended it to me with bare hands. I thanked him. He offered me a tin of water and a gritty substance he called Nokehick, a bland yet filling parched meal.

  When we were through, he asked if I might like to walk with him. He took his bow and a crude quiver of arrows, slung them over his chest, and led me away from the towering rock.

  He asked of my family. I told him of Papa and the illness that invades his breaths.

  He said he knew of the illness, but not of a cure. “No husband?” he asked.

  I avoided his gaze and shook my head. I did not speak to him of Mr. Tanner.

  We walked toward the sun, though it hid itself in the trees, now thick with green leaves of different variety. I felt safe with Abram. Free. As if he did not care to judge me, as if he would not know how to do so had he wanted to.

  I asked after his tribe. He said he left his tribe nine moons ago.

  “Why?”

  We walked in silence for such a time that I tho
ught he would not answer. “You may not come back if I tell you.”

  I wondered if it had to do with the English. I wondered if he had committed a grievous offense against us.

  “Should you care to tell me, I care to listen.”

  Abram walked on, his moccasins soft on the ground. His arm brushed mine now and again, and I did not shy away from his copper skin.

  “It was a matter of honor. I shamed my tribe, the Pocasset. I ran from them instead of facing death.”

  I could see it hard for him to tell of such things. I could tell by his hesitant words that this weighed heavily on his conscience. I reached out and touched the smooth skin of his forearm, where taut muscles rippled underneath. My breath caught at my boldness and he looked down at my hand, so very light against his arm.

  “What have you done to deserve death?” He did not answer and I felt the need to assure him. “You shall not frighten me away,” I said.

  “It is not what I have done. It is what my brother did. I am to bear punishment for his crimes. I ran.”

  “You did nothing, then? And yet you were to be put to death?”

  Abram nodded vigorously. He seemed relieved that I did not intend to chastise him for such an act. “My brother—he took a woman who was not his. He stole her in the night and murdered her husband. Weetamoo—our sachem—sent her soldiers after him, but he was not found. It is our custom for a brother to take punishment.”

  He paused, seeming to measure his next words. “I was afraid. I ran. I stayed in the woods and found the English. I work for them, hunt for them. I learn the language and in some ways I am protected. I learn of your God. I come to love your God. I was happy with the English. But not for long. They grew to distrust me, think me a spy for my tribe. And again I am sent away. I sought out Metacomet—grand sachem of the Wampanoag—you call him Philip. I ask him for peace and pardon. But his brother was Weetamoo’s husband and I think this is why he does not give me pardon. But he does give me my life. Again I am sent away. I come to this place. This is my home now.”

  Abram stopped and faced me. He reached up to brush a tear from my face. I hadn’t realized I had shed it. “Chickautáw, do not be sad for me.”

  “’Tis a sad story,” I told him.

  “Yes, Chickautáw, but I would not meet you if not for this story.”

  I could not presume to think he meant that all of his troubles were worth meeting me, but that is how it sounded. “What does that name mean?”

  “Chickautáw? Little Fire. I see fire in you, and yet innocence also.” Abram patted his heart. “I name your spirit.”

  I was reminded how Mr. Tanner had once called me “little Elizabeth” and I had scolded him. The name Abram gave me I found endearing. He took my hand then, and cupped it against his bare chest. He never surprised me with his lack of physical modesty. I stepped closer and rested my hand in both of his. His brown eyes searched my own and my legs threatened to give from beneath me.

  I should not have such feelings for a native. I know ’tis wrong.

  “Do not wait so many sunsets to come again,” Abram said.

  I told him I would not.

  May 17, 1675

  Andia has gotten her native slave boy. She called on me today, the young lad in tow. I worked on a new quilt on the garden bench. I should have been preparing dinner or weeding the garden, yet last night it came upon me to make a quilt for Abram. It will be the colors of the harvest—greens and reds and yellows and browns. If I can find the time and secure the materials I will applique his rock on it, and put a figure beside it—my Nétop, Abram. I hope to finish it by the harvest, so he will have something to keep him warm at night. By that time, Mr. Tanner and I may be warming one another.

  I saw Andia coming from a distance. I saw her gift from Hezekiah. I knew I could not pretend to be happy for her. The boy hid behind her skirts and she pulled him out from their folds. “Come now, Samuel. ’Tis time you meet Elizabeth.”

  I knelt beside him. His hair looked freshly shorn and his brown eyes vacant and suspicious. I looked into them without shame, tried to see beyond their hollowness to the life he held before Hezekiah had purchased him from his people. Had he a mother or father? Had he been torn from their arms or given over freely? What did he think about our ways? Did he cry himself to sleep at night missing his old life, forced to adopt Andia’s manner of dress and speech and work and worship?

  I blinked away tears. They could not come forth, at least just now. They would only serve to frighten the child. “Askuttaaquompsín?” I greeted him, though I am certain I butchered the word.

  The lad’s eyes widened and he answered in a short word I did not recognize.

  “Tocketussawéitch?” I asked him his name.

  “Piùck,” he said.

  I tried to think of a word to ask him if he’d like something to eat, but Andia pulled the lad back behind her skirts and told me that was quite enough. She said he needed to learn our language and that he wouldn’t do so if I spoke in his tongue. More quietly, she asked how I should come by knowledge of the Wampanoag language anyhow. I told her I’d been reading Roger Williams’s book. I did not tell her that on my last visit to see Abram he taught me some words.

  She asked how Papa fared and I told her some days were better than others. Today he rested in bed. She sat with me on the garden bench and gestured for Piùck to go off a ways. “Would you like him to weed your garden?” Andia asked.

  I told her I preferred to weed my own garden.

  She said he could haul wood into the house for me, that she had trained him to do so without so much noise and that he would not disturb Papa.

  “I do not desire a slave to do my own honest work.”

  She seemed to look down her nose at me then. “There is much to do on a homestead. I brought him here to help you, with your Papa abed.”

  “’Tis not in my conscience to allow a native slave to do my work.”

  “And yet ’tis in your conscience to gallivant around in the woods with one?”

  I near swooned off the garden bench. “How . . . ?” was all I could manage.

  “I overheard Hezekiah speaking with Mr. Tanner, who is in a dither over what to do about you. I know not whether he followed you or happened in the woods for another purpose, but Mr. Tanner saw you in the woods with—with the savage.”

  I would have defended Abram had I the ability to think aright. Mr. Tanner knew. He knew of my friendship with Abram. He knew I disregarded his request to stay away from the wood. I wondered if he would tell Papa. I wondered if I would ever be able to enjoy Abram’s presence again without worrying that Mr. Tanner watched us.

  Andia took my hand. “Elizabeth, please. Think. You must give up this nonsense. Whatever ’tis, it can be settled by focusing your mind on your future and a sound marriage. Mr. Tanner is a good man. Why must you resist him?”

  I did not wish to confide in Andia, for fear she may repeat my confidence to Hezekiah. Mr. Tanner is a good man and I am certain I would find a good husband in him. But I know there is more to feel with a man.

  I know because I feel it when I am with Abram.

  May 25, 1675

  Mr. Tanner came with a doctor today. He waited outside with me as the doctor examined Papa. I thanked him for going through the trouble. He said ’tis no trouble. We stood in silence, and when the doctor emerged from our cottage looking solemn and wiping his sweatied brow with a white handkerchief, I involuntarily leaned into Mr. Tanner for support.

  “’Tis the consumption,” he said. “I have seen cases with rapid—even miraculous recoveries. But your father’s lungs do not sound well, Miss Baker. I am sorry.” He handed me a packet of herbs to mix in his tea, saying it would ease the pain. I thanked him and, near tears, asked if some eggs would do as payment. Mr. Tanner placed his hand on my arm and for the first time I found myself wishing for those strong arms around me.

  “Have no worry,” he said. “I must see the doctor out of the settlement. Will you be well alo
ne?”

  I nodded. After they left, I checked on Papa, who seemed to have fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep. The doctor must have given him something. I ran a hand over his warm brow and sat by his side for a long time. I spoke my heart to him for the first time in years. I told him I feared life without him. I told him I met a native named Abram who gave me the name Little Fire. I told Papa I feared I loved Abram. I told him that my feelings for the native would not change the fact that I would keep my promise and marry Mr. Tanner if he asked for my hand. I told him that Mr. Tanner was a good man, that he had sent for a doctor and even made payment to him. I told him that Mr. Tanner knew I stole to the woods to meet a native and still he persisted in courting me.

  After I spoke all this, I felt God calling my soul. I had never known such an insistence, and yet I knew it in that moment. ’Twas like a stirring of the wind that swept through the windows and into my heart, yet the leaves outside the window scarce moved. I prayed, then. And I felt assurance, peace, as if all would be well. And yet I am uncertain how that could be. I will continue to seek the Lord in prayer.

  Chapter 15

  I scrutinized my face in the mirror, opting for a thin sheen of gloss over my lips instead of the pale mauve lipstick I sometimes wore. I puckered my lips, pressed them together, shook my hair, and stepped back to examine myself in the full-length mirror behind the door of the master bathroom.

  The new black dress I’d bought had a slight slit up the side and hugged my slim curves. I looked good in it. I looked . . . sexy. I looked . . . overdressed? Desperate? Like I was trying too hard?

  I shimmied out of it and tossed it on my bed with the tags still on, crumpled in a heap. I shouldn’t have stayed at the museum so long. I should have given myself more time to get ready for Matt’s party. But I’d been unable to leave Elizabeth’s story, unable to leave her in her plight. And when I’d finally torn myself away, it was as if a part of me was left with my colonial friend in those pages, my mind still wrapped within her words on the drive home, only returning to reality after the hot shower I’d taken.