Traces of Mercy

by Michael Landon, Jr.

  “Mercy isn’t a charity case, Fred,” Rand said, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice. “She is the woman I love, and she has every right to be at this dinner table.”

  Mercy’s eyes widened in surprise, and Cora’s smile died. Ilene laughed nervously. “Young people! So dramatic!”

  Rand pushed back his chair. “If you will excuse us, I believe it’s time I got Mercy back to the convent.”

  Mercy had drained her wine glass by the time Rand came around the table to pull out her chair. She stood, looked at the group staring at her, and hiccuped.

  “Thank you for dinner.”

  They rode in silence for the first few minutes under a full moon. Finally, Rand brought the carriage to a stop. He shifted so he could look at her.

  “I am so sorry about what was said tonight, Mercy.”

  She studied him. “Sorry you said you loved me?”

  He smiled and reached for her hand. “No. I meant that, though I’ll admit it’s not the way I wanted to tell you. I’m sorry about Frederick’s thoughtless comment, and Cora’s veiled barbs, and my mother’s not-so-subtle way of reminding me that I come from a wealthy family.”

  Mercy looked down at her hand clasped tightly in Rand’s, then raised her eyes to his. “I saw your home, Rand. You do come from a wealthy family. And I don’t blame Mr. Klein for wondering what I was doing there.” She paused. “I have to admit, I was wondering the same thing.”

  He leaned closer to her. “I want you there, Mercy. I want you with me. Now, tomorrow … next week …” His voice trailed off. “My father convinced me that working with the railroad was how I helped fight the war. I lived with them for the duration, but now that it’s over, I’m thinking about leaving. I have the means to build a very nice home.”

  When she didn’t answer, he slipped his arm across her shoulders. After a moment, she relaxed against him and looked up at the sky. “Look how beautiful the stars are tonight,” she said softly.

  “You can change the subject, but you won’t change my feelings about you,” he said. There was a smile in his voice … a tenderness that made her snuggle even closer.

  “I could stay like this forever,” she said wistfully.

  “That would be nice, but unfortunately, you have a curfew,” he told her. “We need to get you back soon.”

  “Just a little while longer,” she said. “The sisters will be long asleep by now anyway. They won’t even miss me.”

  “It does seem like a shame to waste a moon like this one,” he said, tightening his arm around her shoulder. “A little while longer, then.”

  Deirdre was pacing back and forth in front of the window in the common room of the convent when she finally heard Rand’s carriage pull into the yard. She watched Rand jump off the carriage and come around to help Mercy down as if she were a princess.

  She started to go out the door to tell Mercy she better hurry herself inside but stopped short when she saw Rand lean in to kiss Mercy good night. And Mercy kissed him back! Deirdre could see it plain as day even in the dark of night. It was a lover’s kiss. One that made her burn with the memory of her own stolen kisses under full moons and scattered stars.

  Mercy was humming softly when she entered the convent. Deirdre stepped out to confront her.

  “Mercy! Do you know what time it is?”

  Mercy’s hand flew to her chest. “Deirdre, you scared the life out of me!”

  “You’re two hours past curfew!” Deirdre said.

  “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I completely lost track of time,” Mercy said.

  Deirdre moved closer. “Is that alcohol I’m smelling on your breath?”

  Mercy smiled but shook her head. “No. It’s only wine.”

  Deirdre shook her head. “Coming home in the wee hours of the morning, smelling of alcohol, and stealing kisses in the dark!”

  “You were watching me?” Mercy asked.

  “Mother was looking for you,” Deirdre said. “She’s gone to get the orphans.”

  Mercy frowned. “It happened tonight?”

  “She waited and waited for you to get back, but when your curfew came and went, she convinced Oona to harness Lucky and try to tame that horse into an easy ride to the city.”

  Mercy’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s the only thing she wanted from me.”

  “She wasn’t angry,” Deirdre said.

  “She wasn’t?”

  Deirdre shook her head. “Mother rarely gets angry. For her it’s disappointment, but believe me when I say, anger is quicker and over in a flash. Disappointment seems like it settles in and takes its own sweet time to go away.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The evening with Rand’s parents is done. I went. I met them. I survived. But just barely.

  My head feels foggy. And my heart feels heavy that I managed to miss the one opportunity I had to really help Mother Helena. The orphans arrived, and I was not there. Why didn’t You tell me, God? Why am I always the last one to know of Your plans? Am I paying the price for something I did but can’t remember?

  Tomorrow I will try and make things right with Mother. I’m counting on the forgiveness commandment for this one.

  The first glass of wine isn’t very good, but the taste seems to improve the more you drink.

  Rand said he loves me.

  I can’t keep my eyes open.

  Mercy heard the sound of laughter through the haze of sleep and groaned. On some level it registered that the sun was up and she should get out of bed, but on another level, she wanted to sink back into the depths of her dreams and forget about her pounding head.

  Oona took the choice away by entering the room and announcing, “Mother would like to see you, Mercy.”

  She sat up and squinted at Oona. “Now?”

  Oona nodded grimly. “Yes. Right now.”

  Mercy went in search of Mother Helena, weaving her way around children of various ages and sizes and wincing at noise that seemed to reverberate off the walls. Some of the children smiled when they saw her; some regarded her with solemn eyes. She wondered what it would be like to be that age and find yourself in a strange house, maybe hundreds of miles from home, surrounded by nuns. And then it dawned on her—she needn’t wonder at all. She knew.

  She had been told Mother was outside and found her near the garden, humming softly to a baby girl asleep in her arms. It wasn’t until Mercy was almost upon her that the nun looked up from the baby’s face and registered her presence.

  “Oona said you wanted to see me?” Mercy said.

  “Yes.”

  A fat cloud passed in front of the sun, and Mother Helena glanced up. “I think it may rain,” she said. “Always good for the garden.”

  Mercy nodded but stopped when her head swam with the motion. She stepped closer to get a look at the baby. “She’s beautiful.”

  “She is called Amelia. I think it suits her.”

  “I saw the children,” Mercy said.

  “It would be hard to miss them.”

  “But I did miss them last night,” Mercy said, ready to get her scolding over with and move on with the day.

  When Mother looked past her, Mercy turned to see Sister Ruth coming toward them. Ruth looked at the sleeping baby and smiled. “The wee one is all tuckered out,” she said, then raised an eyebrow. “But I can’t say the same for the children inside the house. I’ve never seen so much energy in my life.”

  “Children being children. Such joy,” Mother said. “Turn them out for a while and let them run.”

  Ruth looked at Amelia. “Shall I take her inside for you, Mother?”

  Mother Helena hesitated, then said, “Thank you, Sister.”

  As Ruth left with Amelia, Mother looked at Mercy. “Walk with me.”

  They walked toward the barn behind the convent, where Lucky stood munching on a
bucket of oats.

  Mercy walked gingerly, as if the jarring action of putting foot to ground was too much. Mother Helena looked at her.

  “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “My head feels as if someone is pounding on the inside and trying to get out.”

  “I was told that you arrived back here last night with alcohol on your breath,” Mother said. Though there was no discernible reproach or judgment in her voice, Mercy felt both.

  “I just had a little wine at the Prescotts’ house,” Mercy said.

  “And now you have a headache as a parting gift.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know one had anything to do with the other,” Mercy said. “But if this is the price to pay for drinking wine, I don’t think I’ll have it again.”

  They stopped at the corral fence, and Lucky looked up. His ears pricked up as he seemed to register Mercy’s presence, but then he went back to eating his oats.

  “I am giving Lucky to you,” Mother Helena said without preamble.

  Mercy’s jaw dropped, and she stared at the diminutive nun. “I’m sorry? What?”

  “I said I am making you a gift of that horse. When anyone but you tries to coax anything out of him, his behavior is unpredictable and erratic, and I can’t have that around the sisters or the children.”

  “Yes, of course, I’ll always make sure the children are safe,” Mercy said.

  “You won’t be here to worry about that. That is why I’m giving him to you.”

  Mercy’s mouth went dry. “But I live here.”

  Mother Helena looked at her and shook her head. “You need to find another place to live.” Her tone was gentle but firm.

  “You’re making me leave the convent?” Mercy’s voice rose. “Just because I came home late for curfew once?”

  “We have provided you with clothes, food, and a roof over your head. And in return, I made only one request. That I could count on you to help me bring the children safely here.”

  “Mother, I …”

  “Oona tried. She did. But that horse has a mind of his own when you aren’t around, and he got away from her three times. Once, we almost went off the road and into a ravine with the children. They were already frightened enough at their new situation. They didn’t need to hear the terrified bantering of their new caretakers.”

  “I am so sorry, Mother,” Mercy said sincerely. “I promise I won’t be late again. Please don’t turn me out. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Mother sighed. “The tardiness is not the only issue. And last night isn’t the first time you’ve come back to the convent after drinking alcohol. Deirdre said—”

  “Deirdre is jealous! Jealous that I get to be with Rand and she can’t have a man! She’s never gotten over that potato farmer back in Ireland, and now she’s going to ruin things for me!”

  “That is enough,” Mother said sternly. “Deirdre only answered the questions I asked her.”

  But Mercy was fuming. “I see how she looks at Rand. How she looks at me when I’m wearing pretty dresses and she’s—”

  “I would be extremely careful about your next words,” Mother Helena said. “Because whatever you say about Deirdre, you are saying about the rest of us.”

  Mercy’s eyes filled with tears, and she gripped the fence as Mother continued.

  “We are women, Mercy. Women who have hopes, dreams, needs, frustrations, and yes, even passions—just like other women. The difference is what we have chosen to do with all those emotions and how we choose to avoid temptation. We live separate, dress separate, are separate from the world on purpose. Whether you realize it or not, you are falling in love and want to experience all that goes along with that. What you are doing is not wrong—but where you are doing it is.”

  “So I’m the outsider, and the outsider has to leave; is that it?”

  “Yes, child. That’s it.”

  “I’ll tell Rand I can’t see him anymore,” Mercy said, her voice rising in panic. “I’ll dress in black and do the chores and even learn to sew—just don’t make me leave, Mother.”

  “You can’t deny who you are,” Mother said.

  “Who am I? Who? How can I deny what I don’t know?” Mercy practically yelled.

  “I can’t have the distractions that accompany your presence here any longer. I can’t have sisters worrying about your dinner parties and fancy dresses and the latest style in hair bows. I have children to think about now, and I need everyone to focus on their emotional, physical, and spiritual needs.”

  “You have all told me, time and time again, that nuns have been called by God to this life. If that’s true, how can all of you be so easily distracted by temptations? Are you sure your calling is truly from God?”

  The look on Mother Helena’s face was enough to make Mercy regret her sarcastic tone.

  “From the time I was a wee girl, I planned to marry the church. To give myself to Christ and live my life in service,” Mother Helena said. “I knew it as sure as I knew my own name. God called me. And I would answer when I was of age. No questions. No hesitations. Until I was careless with where I went and who I met, and I fell in love with a fisherman named Padraig O’Brien. He became all I wanted, and because the heart wants what the heart wants, I turned my back on God and who I really was—and married Padraig. We had a son together. A beautiful little boy named Aidan, who was the best parts of both of us.

  “I know what romantic love is, Mercy. How it feels. How it fills up every space in you until you are ready to burst with happiness that someone cherishes you that way. It’s the way a nun is supposed to feel about God’s holy love. But in the life of a religious, there is no room for both.”

  “Where are they now? Your husband and your son?”

  “Padraig and Aidan drowned in a boating accident,” Mother said in a carefully modulated voice. “I allowed myself to be distracted by the world. I took my eyes off God and turned my back on my true path in life, and because of that a wonderful man and an innocent little boy died.”

  “But you can’t think it was your fault …”

  “I have a house filled with children who have lived through the hell of losing one or both of their parents, and I won’t rest until every one of them has a safe and loving home,” Mother said. “I’ve grown very fond of you, Mercy, but every time you leave and come back, the world comes back with you, and I can’t allow that to continue. I’ll give you a few days to find other arrangements.”

  “Lucky is truly mine now?” Mercy asked, the hurt on her face turning to hard lines of anger.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll be on my way as soon as I can collect my belongings,” Mercy said. “I wouldn’t want to stay here one more night and risk being the cause of someone’s fall from grace.”

  “I had prayed we could part in a civil manner,” Mother Helena said quietly, “and that you wouldn’t leave angry.”

  “You told me God answers all our prayers, Mother. But I can tell you for certain, He won’t answer this one the way you want Him to.”

  Before Mother Helena could say another word, Mercy ran for the house, resisting the hot tears she felt burning behind her eyes, and quickly gathered the few things in the world that were truly hers. With all the nuns preoccupied with their new boarders, Mercy slipped out the back of the house and made her way toward her horse.

  Riding bareback on Lucky, Mercy nursed the flame of anger that had steadily grown since she’d left the convent. Better to stew in rage than allow any other emotions into her head—hurt, embarrassment, fear. She was the woman without a past. The outsider. The interloper who had been accused of corrupting God’s holy women by her mere presence. She had one moment of thankfulness when it came back to her how in tune she was with Lucky. The horse seemed to feel her every move—responded to the way she shifted on his back or leaned a forearm near his neck. T
hey flew across the countryside, trampling shadows stretched across the ground as heavy clouds puckered with rain hung overhead.

  Mercy came onto the property from the back, riding alongside the tall hedges that served as a barrier just days ago between a lovely summer picnic and two nuns who would unwittingly cause her to lose her place to live.

  The Prescott estate looked to be sleeping in the small valley below—no one out and about under the timpani thunder that was a prelude to the first fat drops of rain. Instinctively, Mercy kept Lucky close to trees and bushes as they approached the back of the house. She slid from Lucky’s back, looped the reins over a low-hanging tree branch, and waited.

  Mercy was soaked to the skin by the time the rain stopped and she saw Rand come out of the house. His father was with him, and Mercy shrank back farther into the shadows of the landscape. She watched Charles and Rand speak for a few moments, and then a carriage came from the direction of the stable and stopped. She felt her heart sink with the lost opportunity to speak to Rand alone—until the carriage pulled away and she could see that although Charles was gone, Rand remained. He started to go back into the house—but then he turned, and she felt as if he looked straight at her. It was the moment she had waited for, and she couldn’t move. Could a man still love a woman he pitied? He hesitated a second longer, and her fear and desperation won out over her pride.

  “Rand!” she called out, stepping out of the shadows.

  She was close enough to see his surprised expression and then the frown as he saw the state she was in. He quickly started to cross the space between them, and she moved to meet him, her wet dress heavy around her ankles.

  “Mercy!” he said, finally getting so close he could see that the wet on her cheeks wasn’t from the rain. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said, all anger dissipating into helplessness and fear, “or where to go.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rand said, confused. “What are you telling me?”

  “I’m telling you that I need help,” she said. “I need … you.”