Traces of Mercy

by Michael Landon, Jr.

  “Unless if who she really is … would prohibit the relationship?”

  Intrigued, John frowned. “To what purpose?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. But it would be interesting to find out.”

  Elijah went back to the beginning of Mercy’s time in St. Louis. At least the beginning anyone knew about. He walked through the door of Abe Johnson’s clinic and found the older man with his eye pressed to a microscope.

  “Hello? Doctor Johnson?”

  Abe didn’t immediately look up. Instead, he raised a finger in the air, keeping his eye on the lens.

  “One minute,” Abe said.

  “All right,” Elijah said, unsure if he should venture farther into the room or just stay put. Seconds ticked away, then a full minute, and still the doctor stayed bent over his microscope.

  “Ah, maybe I should come back another time?” Elijah said.

  Abe jerked, then straightened and looked at Elijah. “Forgive me. I completely forgot you were there.” He rubbed his eyes. “Fascinating, fascinating things to be seen on the slide under magnification,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe how one single drop of blood can keep me spellbound.”

  Elijah smiled. “I might.”

  “What may I do for you, Captain?” Abe asked, after taking note of the rank on his uniform.

  “I’m Elijah Hale,” he said. “I’m looking for some information about a former patient of yours.”

  Abe went to a washstand and dipped his hands in the water. “What patient would that be?”

  “A young woman with amnesia,” Elijah said. “Do you remember her?”

  Abe wiped his hands off on a towel and turned to look at his visitor. “Of course I remember her. A most fascinating case.”

  “I have a few questions about her,” Elijah said.

  Doc frowned. “It’s one thing to say I know her, but quite another to discuss her with you. Can you tell me what this is about?”

  “Mostly it’s about satisfying my own curiosity,” Elijah admitted. “I met the young lady at her engagement party …”

  Abe smiled broadly. “Yes, yes. I heard she’d gotten engaged to Rand Prescott. Fine young man. Fine family.”

  Elijah nodded. “I heard her … story … and naturally I found it compelling, as I’m sure so many others have.”

  Abe narrowed his eyes. “Yet no one else has come here to talk to me about her. Not even her intended. Is this a military matter?”

  Elijah shook his head. “No, sir. As I said, I’m here strictly out of curiosity. I’ve never met someone who claims to have amnesia.”

  Abe raised his brows. “Claims? You speak as if you don’t believe her.”

  “You do?”

  Abe rubbed absently at one of his eyebrows. “Unequivocally.”

  “So you’ve seen cases of this condition before?”

  “No. Not personally. But I will tell you that I’ve done thorough research on the subject, and Mercy is a textbook case.” The doctor shook his head. “If you could have seen the panic on her face that day she woke up and realized she had no idea what her name was … where she came from … anything in her past. She was scared to death. Afraid to even glance in a mirror. The poor girl had no inkling what she looked like.”

  “Beautiful.”

  Abe nodded. “Yes—even then with a man’s haircut.”

  Elijah felt a twinge of unease. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir. Cut just as short as mine. In fact, the fellows who brought her into my place here thought she was a man.”

  “Not to be indelicate,” Elijah said slowly, “but the woman in question looks nothing like a man.”

  “She was dressed as a man. Even had her, ah, attributes hidden by some heavy binding,” Abe said. “Of course, the reason for that was as elusive to her as the rest of her history.”

  “May I ask what you treated her for? Besides the amnesia?”

  “Bumps, bruises, contusions,” Abe said, “and a gunshot wound to the back of her leg.”

  “Don’t you find the whole thing odd?”

  “I find a great many things odd, Captain. I find it odd that we just finished a bloody war that sometimes pitted brother against brother. That I live in a land where the president was shot while attending the theater. That I can look at a drop of blood under a microscope and tell a great many things about the person it came from.” Abe sighed. “Is her situation odd? Yes, I suppose it is. But it doesn’t stop me from wishing her well and hoping she has a wonderful life despite her handicapped memory.”

  “I was told she only spent a couple of weeks with you,” Elijah said.

  “That’s correct. When she was well enough, I brought her to the Little Sisters of Hope. Mother Helena and the sisters took her in and helped give her a fresh start at life.”

  Elijah thanked him for his time and headed for the door.

  “Captain?”

  Elijah turned. “Yes?”

  “I hope that this curiosity of yours won’t lead to a disruption of the life that Mercy is trying to forge for herself.”

  “I hope not either.”

  The Little Sisters of Hope Convent was not at all what Elijah expected. The only thing that did seem to fit was the large wooden cross on the roof of a building that looked more like a farmhouse than the home of an order of nuns. In the back of his mind he had expected the place to be quiet, orderly, maybe even with a reverent air about it. But after he had knocked several times, the nun who opened the door looked more disheveled than holy—more irritated than welcoming.

  “Yes?” the woman asked. “May I help you?”

  Elijah slipped the hat from his head. “I’m Captain Hale, Sister …”

  “Sister Agnes.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Sister Agnes. I wonder if I may speak to the … nun in charge. Uh, Sister …”

  “That would be Mother Helena,” she said.

  “That’s right,” he said, more to himself than to her. “May I please speak to Mother Helena?”

  “She’s a little busy right now,” Sister Agnes said.

  “It’s important,” he insisted.

  She nodded. “Come in. Follow me.”

  He entered the austere common room and felt for a moment as though something finally fit his imagination. Then he heard the noise coming from the back of the place and lifted his brows.

  “We’ve recently become an orphanage,” Sister Agnes explained as they made their way toward a definite ruckus. “And we’ve yet to find the fine line between letting children express themselves and letting children run rampant. Right now they are having a lesson in bed making.”

  “Sounds like a noisy lesson,” he observed.

  Sister Agnes nodded, her jowly cheeks bouncing a little with the effort. “Mother Helena believes in fun with the lessons. She’s made a contest of it. The little mites are competitive, I’ll give them that.”

  They entered the back of the house, a seemingly new addition where all the beds were set up in neat rows and the children were in some form or another rushing to pull sheets taut, spread quilts just so. The bigger ones helped the littles. And in the center of the room stood a diminutive nun who was calling out instruction like a coach at a game.

  “That’s the way, Frankie! Pull it up—smooth the corner! No, no, no, Matilda! You have a lumpy middle there! See it?”

  “Mother?” Sister Agnes said over the children’s squealing. “This is Captain Hale. He’d like to speak to you.”

  Mother Helena turned and swept her eyes over Captain Hale. “Captain Hale? What might I do for you?”

  “I’m here to inquire about a young woman you had staying here,” he said. “Her name is Mercy.”

  A little boy jumped up onto his bed, and Mother Helena shook her head. “Thomas! Off the bed, child! That won’t do at all!” She
looked at Elijah. “Are you someone from Mercy’s past?”

  “No. I am a friend of a friend of her future husband’s family.”

  Mother Helena frowned. “And they asked you to speak to me about her?”

  “No. I’m here on my own.”

  A feather pillow slammed into Elijah. He snagged it, and Mother Helena fixed a stern look on the young girl who had pitched it like a ball.

  “Marie. We don’t throw things indoors.” But when she turned back to Elijah, he could see a twinkle in her eye. “I am not in the habit of discussing others, Captain Hale. I suggest if you have questions, you go straight to the source. Go see Mercy.”

  Her eyes swept around the room. “Stop!” she said loudly, holding up her hand. The children all froze in place. She held the suspense for a moment, then said, “Kathryn is the winner this time.”

  A little girl in braids grinned broadly, and the other children groaned. “Let us start again!” Mother Helena said.

  The kids gleefully ripped the covers back off their beds and began a new race to make the perfect bed.

  “It seems to be the general consensus that the amnesia Mercy is suffering from is real,” Elijah said over the din of the children, trying to bring the nun’s attention back to the topic.

  Mother Helena looked at him. “I wasn’t aware that it was a question.”

  “So you believed her?”

  “Haven’t I made that clear?”

  “I don’t believe anything about her is clear,” he said with a touch of frustration in his voice. “I was told she lived here but then was asked to leave.”

  “Tuck the sheet in at the bottom, Lois,” Mother said. “Martha—help Lois, please!”

  Mother Helena looked at Elijah. “For a man who claims to need answers, Captain, you seem to be very well-informed. I’m afraid you wasted your time with this visit. I’m sorry.”

  He understood he was being dismissed. “I’ll let you get back to your … lessons.”

  “I know it seems chaotic, but trust me, it will be effective. These children will be able to turn out a bed like a soldier. You should be able to appreciate that.”

  He nodded. “Well, thank you for your time.” Elijah started to turn to leave, but then as the noise in the room diminished with the efforts of the children, he thought of one more question.

  “Her name?” he asked. “I don’t know how she came to be called Mercy.”

  “She was wearing an Our Lady of Mercy medallion when she came to us,” the nun said. “I thought it only fitting to call her Mercy.”

  Elijah’s mind filled with the image of a ragged Confederate sergeant holding a knife while his brother, Jed, lay dead not ten feet behind him. He remembered that exact moment when he slipped his own mercy medallion over the sergeant’s knife.

  My mother gave me this. She said it would keep me safe.

  “Captain?” Mother Helena’s voice brought his thoughts back to the present. “Do you need someone to show you out?”

  Elijah hesitated just for a second, then gave her a sad smile. “No, thank you. I know exactly where I have to go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I am missing Rand. Though he’s only been gone a short time, the business trip with his father seems as if it’s gone on forever, and there are still a few weeks left to go. On the good side, Ilene has left me blissfully alone these past few days.

  I spent today watching the snow fall. So beautiful as it hits the lake and disappears. The ground is covered, and I watched as Isaac tried to make a snowman in the yard. He didn’t know I was there—it was just a boy having some fun in the snow until Ezra came and caught him at it. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I saw the look of fear on Isaac’s face when Ezra knocked the snowman over and lifted his hand as if to hit the boy. I didn’t even think about how Ezra makes me feel sometimes, I just flew to the door and called for Isaac. Ezra turned with his hand still poised to strike Isaac and saw me. He dropped his hand and tried to wipe the scowl from his face. But it was there. I saw it plain as day. I asked Isaac to go and check on Lucky—and then maybe get some more wood for the fire. I could tell by the look on his face that he was happy to be scampering away from Ezra. I need to remember to tell Rand about Ezra. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time he’s raised his hand to that boy.

  The cottage is so quiet at night when I’m in here all alone and writing down my thoughts. Will I still write in you, dear journal, when I am a married woman? Or will I be so willing to share all my rambling thoughts with my husband that I won’t need you anymore? Only time will tell, I suppose. But tonight, my secret is that I am happy. So blissfully happy that some days I can go for hours before I remember that I still can’t remember my own real name.

  Mercy opened the door to find a man on her porch. His brown leather jacket was dotted with snow, and his hat perched so low on his head that it shadowed his face.

  “May I help you?”

  He swept the hat from his head, and though she had only seen him in his army uniform, she instantly recognized him by those piercing eyes of his.

  “Sorry for the intrusion, ma’am,” he said.

  “Captain Hale?” She couldn’t mask the surprise in her voice.

  “Yes. I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time?” he asked in a tone that made her wonder what he’d say if she refused. But there was no reason for her to refuse. He was a vetted friend of the Hendersons, an officer in the army—and she had the protection of Ezra and Isaac should she feel the need. She felt a ripple of unease at the thought of inviting in the man who’d made the remark about possibly knowing her. She stepped out of his way.

  “Please, come in.”

  He stepped through the door and glanced around the room. “You have a very nice home,” he said. Letty appeared and took his hat and jacket, and he thanked her.

  “My pleasure, suh,” she said. Turning to Mercy, she asked, “Tea, Miss Mercy?”

  Mercy looked at her guest. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything stronger in the house.”

  “Tea would be appreciated,” he said.

  “And, Letty, would you please ask Isaac to see to Captain Hale’s horse?”

  “I don’t plan a lengthy visit, ma’am,” he said.

  “Still, the horse deserves a respite from the cold just like you—don’t you agree?”

  He acquiesced. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Letty hurried from the room.

  “I hope you haven’t misunderstood homesteads.” Mercy looked puzzled. “The cottage belongs to the Prescott family, but they don’t live here. It’s only me right now. Rand isn’t even here visiting at the moment. He’s out of town with his father.”

  “I didn’t come to see any of the Prescotts,” he said. “I came to speak with you.”

  Mercy considered it, then smiled and gestured to chairs in front of a fireplace. “Please. Have a seat.”

  His large frame almost seemed to overwhelm the parlor chair. He was taller than Rand—broader in the shoulders and chest. His dark hair was thick and trimmed so it just touched the collar of his white shirt. Mercy had to admit he was just as handsome as Rand—but in a different way. He was more rugged—his features not so refined and chiseled as her intended. He looked every inch as a composed officer in the military must look, she decided. Even without his uniform. It occurred to her that she was staring at him—and he was staring back.

  She smiled self-consciously. “I don’t mean to be rude, Captain Hale, but I can’t imagine what you would need to speak to me about.”

  Mercy watched him hesitate for a moment; his carefully arranged composure looked as if it might fail him. Letty reappeared with tea and gave them each a cup. The china was nearly dwarfed in his hand, and Mercy could see his discomfort in handling it. He took a sip of the warm liquid and then put it down on a table beside the chair.
r />   “It’s about the war,” he finally said.

  She smiled politely. “I don’t know how much you know about me, Captain, but I feel I must be frank and tell you I know nothing about the war other than what others have told me.”

  “I’ll be frank as well and tell you I know your story.”

  She tried not to look as confused as she felt. “Excuse me?”

  “If you’ll indulge me, I’ll explain,” he said. She felt a surge of unease. What could she possibly have to worry about from this man—this stranger she had met on only a handful of occasions? He’d assured her he’d been mistaken about knowing her—so it couldn’t be about that. Or could it? Despite the misgivings about his visit that were surfacing faster than she could squelch them, she looked him in the eye.

  “Go on, please,” she said.

  He drew in a deep breath. She could see that he was trying to form his words carefully, and she felt a new wash of nerves. What could he possibly have to say that was so difficult? She had a moment of regret that she’d ever opened the door at all.

  Even though he’d rehearsed his words and his story several times over the course of the last couple of days, now that he was sitting in the presence of the woman, Elijah’s carefully constructed monologue failed him. She was beautiful—poised, self-possessed. She was dressed in a wool skirt and a silk blouse, and her hair hung in loose ringlets around her face. He nearly abandoned his plan … until he looked into her dark-brown eyes and thought about all that was at stake if he didn’t say something.

  “If you’ll permit, I will start with a little of my background,” he finally said. “Some context for the rest of the story.”

  She nodded patiently. If she had any inkling of what he was going to say, then Elijah was impressed at how well she was hiding it. By all appearances, the woman truly didn’t know what was coming.