Traces of Mercy

by Michael Landon, Jr.

  Dear Rand: I hope someday you’ll be able to forgive me for ending our relationship this way, but believe me when I say it’s for the best. I cannot marry you. The decision has been painful and not without considerable thought—but it’s the right thing for me to do. I cannot be the wife you deserve. I cannot be the woman you need by your side in the future you will have in your father’s business …

  This was the last glancing blow to what had promised to be a happy future. She had been a fool to think she could lose so much of her past—herself—and still skip happily on as if it didn’t matter. What else lurked in the dark corners of a mind that couldn’t remember? What would have driven a woman to war?

  She found she had a talent for lying, and she called on it now to finish her good-bye to Rand. She ended the note with words like resolute and unyielding and begged him to accept her decision. She didn’t even realize she was sobbing, weeping so hard her throbbing shoulder shook from the effort.

  There was a sudden knock on her bedroom door.

  “Miss Mercy?” Letty’s worried voice boomed through the wood. “Is you all right?”

  Mercy’s eyes flew to the window, where she could just make out the earliest dawn light. She forced her voice to sound normal and called back, “Yes, Letty. I was having a terrible nightmare. Thank you for waking me from it.”

  “Would you be wantin’ some tea now?” Letty wondered. Mercy couldn’t tell from her voice if she had believed her story or not.

  “No, thank you,” Mercy said. “I think I’ll try and sleep a little longer.”

  “Yassum,” Letty said.

  Mercy heard her footsteps retreat and then used her quilt to wipe her face. She folded the note for Rand and sealed it with the wax Ilene had given her for the purpose of correspondence. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine Ilene’s face when she heard the news that her beautifully planned wedding was off. Mercy trembled at the thought.

  She dropped the quilt from her shoulder and studied the wound in the mirror. There was a gaping three-inch gash, and the skin around it was bruised blue and purple. She tried to rotate it and bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. The wound needed to be tended to, wrapped and bound with something clean. No one could see it; no one could know. The basin of water on the washstand would suffice. She could stuff her bloodied shirt into the satchel she would take when she left. She looked for any evidence of blood on her sheets and saw traces of red. With any luck, I’ll be able to wash them out—and Letty will never be the wiser. She nearly laughed at her use of the phrase. With any luck her body would do her a favor and her heart would simply stop after she rode away from the cottage.

  It was midmorning by the time Mercy came out of her room. She hoped she looked no worse for the wear—other than the dark circles under her eyes—after her eventful night. Kizzy, in the kitchen, looked at her with a small frown. “Mornin’, Miss Mercy,” she said. “You be ready for yo’ breakfast now?”

  Mercy shook her head. “I’m not hungry, Kizzy.”

  “’Scuze me fo’ sayin’ so, ma’am, but you look mighty tired. Letty tol’ me ’bout your pain.”

  Mercy was aware that she was holding herself very still. She purposefully relaxed her painful shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

  “She said you had a bad headache,” Kizzy continued. “Ain’t it better?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s better, thank you,” Mercy said.

  Kizzy turned to leave the room, but Mercy stopped her. “Kizzy? I may not be hungry this morning, but I want you to know I think you are a wonderful cook.”

  Kizzy looked both surprised and pleased at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Miss Mercy. I try.”

  “And please tell Letty that I appreciate how well she took care of me.”

  “She be pleased you say that, Miss Mercy.”

  With her satchel in hand, Mercy found Ezra in the barn, giving Isaac an earful about his lackadaisical ways. Isaac was actually cowering in the corner, his eyes wide and scared as Ezra continued his tirade. But when Ezra raised his hand to hit Isaac, Mercy, despite the pain in her shoulder, grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t!” she said with as much force as she could muster.

  Ezra spun around. “’Scuze me, Miss Mercy, but this here business be between me and the boy.”

  “It will be between you and Mr. Rand if I tell him that you’ve been abusing this poor boy,” Mercy said. “There is no excuse for hitting him, Ezra, and it needs to stop.”

  Isaac’s eyes widened at her words, and he scrambled out of the corner of the barn. Mercy could see Ezra trying to control his anger. “Yassum.”

  “I’d like your promise that you won’t hit Isaac anymore,” she said.

  “Boys gots to be taught …”

  “Ezra …”

  “All right, Miss Mercy,” Ezra said, even as he glanced at Isaac. “No more hitting on the boy.”

  Mercy didn’t believe him, but she nodded. “Fine. Now, I have something for you to do.”

  She handed him the wax-sealed note. “I need you to see that Mr. Rand receives this.”

  He nodded. “I’ll leave directly.”

  “No. I want you to wait until nearly sundown before you deliver it,” she said.

  Ezra’s expression remained carefully blank, but she saw his eyes flick to her satchel. “Yassum.”

  “Make sure you hand it to him—and no one else. I believe he’ll be at his office in the city. Don’t forget—the note is for his eyes only. You understand?”

  “I only gives the note to Mr. Rand and not nobody else.”

  “That’s right.”

  Ezra tucked the note into his pocket and nodded at Mercy. “I’ll see to it,” he said. “Now I gots wood to stack.”

  Mercy and Isaac both watched him walk away. Mercy crossed to Isaac. “Are you all right, Isaac?”

  “Yassum, Miss Mercy,” he said. “Thanks be to you he didn’t get a chance to hit me this time.”

  For a moment, Mercy looked conflicted. “I hope I didn’t make things worse for you by saying something.”

  “You was jes tryin’ to help me,” Isaac said. “Ain’t no one done that before.”

  “Promise me you’ll tell Mr. Rand if he hits you again, Isaac.”

  Isaac’s eyes filled with tears. “I could tell you.”

  Mercy hesitated, then shook her head. “It needs to be Mr. Rand.”

  “Ezra say Mr. Rand will send me packin’ if I tell. He say I be too much trouble to keep on here.”

  “Ezra’s wrong, Isaac. Mr. Rand won’t want you to be hurt. Do Kizzy and Letty know about this?”

  Isaac looked down at the ground. “It just be the way things is.”

  Mercy put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, wincing with the pain from her own wound. “It’s not how things should be, Isaac. You’re a good boy. A good worker. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  Isaac nodded but didn’t look up. Mercy stepped back. “Would you saddle Lucky for me?”

  “Yassum,” he said. “Won’t take me but a minute, Miss Mercy.”

  While Isaac made short work of saddling Lucky, Mercy took a last look around the cottage grounds. She should have known things were too good to be true.

  Isaac brought Lucky to her. “I be ready to brush him down when you get back from yo’ ride, Miss Mercy.”

  Mercy handed him the satchel and then tried to steel herself against the pain it would cause as she reached for the saddle horn and mounted the horse. Once astride, she held out a hand, and Isaac gave her the satchel.

  “I thank you for the way you’ve cared for Lucky, Isaac. You have a way with horses,” Mercy told him.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Isaac said.

  Mercy nodded, then gave Lucky a kick in the side, and they rode away.

  Mercy’s eyes were sw
ollen and red when she knocked on the convent door. Deirdre answered and couldn’t hide her look of surprise.

  “Mercy?”

  “I need to see Mother Helena, Deirdre. Please.”

  Deirdre nodded but looked past her. “Is Rand with you?”

  Mercy shook her head and fought against tears. “No.”

  Deirdre drew her inside. “Wait in the common room. I’ll find Mother.”

  Physically and mentally exhausted, Mercy dropped onto a wooden bench, wincing from the jarring pain in her shoulder. She wanted to be strong when she talked to Mother Helena. Wanted the nun to see she had grown and matured since her departure from the convent. All she needed was a place to stay for a few days until she could decide what to do with the rest of her life.

  “Mercy?” Mother Helena stood a few feet away. Her musical voice was all it took for Mercy’s carefully held reserve to crumble.

  “Mother.” Her voice cracked, and tears began to flow again. Mother Helena hurried toward her and kneeled at her feet. Mercy gripped the older woman’s hands. Her voice was choked with emotion when she spoke.

  “I didn’t have anyone else to turn to,” she said.

  Mother Helena’s brow creased as she looked up into Mercy’s tear-streaked face. “What’s all this about, child? What’s happened?”

  Mercy drew in a steadying breath, trying to stop the flow of tears. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m not marrying Rand.”

  Mother Helena digested the news. “By the look of you, I’m guessing that he called it off?”

  Mercy sniffed and shook her head. “It was me.”

  Mother Helena pushed herself to her feet and sat down next to Mercy. “Shall we talk about why?”

  “I’m an awful person,” Mercy said. “An evil, terrible, despicable person.” She dropped her eyes to her lap. “I don’t deserve him.”

  “I don’t understand. Did you argue? Have some kind of disagreement that’s left you feeling this way? Did Rand say those hateful things about you?”

  Mercy shook her head. “He’s never been anything but kind and loving toward me.” She shifted on the bench so that she was facing the older woman. “That’s the problem. He’s been kind and loving to the woman he thinks he knows. But if he knew the real me … he wouldn’t love me at all. He’d hate me. I had to leave him so I’d never see that hate in his eyes.”

  Mother Helena stilled. “You speak as though you’ve remembered something, child. Have you? Have you remembered your past?”

  Mercy pulled in a deep breath. She wanted to admit it all: that Elijah Hale had threatened to expose her—that she’d set a fire and nearly killed a man because of her own selfish fears. But the bulk of the truth was stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t force herself to push out the words. A version of the truth was all she could muster.

  “I’ve remembered … something,” Mercy admitted.

  “But isn’t that good news? I know you’ve prayed for your memory to come back to you.”

  Mercy’s expression hardened. “Yes, I’ve been praying for that. Only God has seen fit to answer that prayer in part and parcel with information that makes it impossible for me to marry Rand.”

  Mother Helena’s brows rose. “You’ve remembered a husband, then?”

  Mercy shook her head, eyes filled again with tears. “No. I’ve not even remembered my own name.”

  “Then what?”

  Mercy hesitated.

  “What you tell me won’t leave this room, child,” Mother Helena assured her.

  “I was a soldier in the war. A Confederate soldier.” Somehow, saying the words out loud eased an ache in her chest. “I was Rand’s enemy.”

  Mother Helena turned from Mercy and looked toward the window as her fingers found her rosary beads. Clearly thinking through what Mercy had just confided, she finally turned. “Your hair, the men’s clothing—the binding around your chest. It all makes sense.”

  “Rand can never know the truth.”

  “The poor boy must have been devastated when you broke off your engagement,” Mother Helena said. “It must have been a very difficult conversation.”

  “I couldn’t face him, Mother. I had a servant deliver a note that said I couldn’t go through with the wedding.”

  “So you lied.”

  Mercy sighed. “Right now it seems the least of my sins.”

  “Rand deserves to know the truth about this, Mercy. He may surprise you with his reaction. If he truly loves you, your past won’t matter.”

  “I know how he feels about Confederates. I couldn’t bear to have him look at me that way. And what if someone else were to find out? How would it look to have one of the biggest supporters of the Union cause married to a rebel soldier? It would be an embarrassment to his whole family. I won’t do that.”

  “He won’t be satisfied with a note, Mercy. He’ll come here looking for you, and when he does, you need to face him.”

  “I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that,” Mercy whispered.

  “Then pray for the strength,” Mother said firmly. “I’ve told you this isn’t a place to hide. But as long as you face Rand when he comes, you are welcome to stay with us until you know what you want to do.”

  Mercy’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

  Mother Helena leaned over and hugged her. Mercy flinched from the pain in her shoulder. The nun pulled back and studied her.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Just a little pain in my shoulder from a fall I took,” Mercy said.

  Mother Helena offered a sad smile. “’Tis a pain that will heal quicker than your broken heart, I’m sorry to say.”

  Mercy nodded. “I know.”

  Mother Helena stood. “All right then. See to your horse, and I’ll let Oona and Deirdre know they’ll have company in their room.”

  Mercy went outside and busied herself with Lucky’s needs. She put him in the corral, forked some oats into a bucket, and stood with her hand on his neck as he dipped his head for the food and munched contentedly.

  “There’s no question that horse loves you,” Deirdre said. Mercy turned to see the young postulant standing a few feet away.

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  Deirdre approached her. “Mother says you are back to stay for a while?”

  “Yes,” she answered, swallowing down the sorrow she felt in the admission. “But I will be the one to sleep on the floor, Deirdre.”

  “We can take turns again,” Deirdre said. “Like old times.”

  Mercy tried to smile. “Old times.”

  “I won’t pry,” Deirdre said, “but when you’re ready to talk about what happened, I’d be happy to listen.”

  When Mercy didn’t respond, Deirdre took a step toward her. “Sometimes talking about something makes the burden a wee bit lighter.”

  Mercy knew if she told Deirdre, then the rest of the nuns would hear the news and she’d be spared offering the same explanation over and over.

  “I’ve broken off my engagement to Rand, Deirdre. We’re not going to be married.”

  Deirdre’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry, Mercy.”

  “No need to be sorry,” Mercy said. “It’s for the best.”

  “’Tis lucky for you to have realized you don’t love him before you were married in front of God and everyone.”

  Mercy offered a sad smile. “Yes. Lucky for me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was Ezra’s first time in the ornate building that housed the Prescotts’ offices in midtown St. Louis. He was ushered by a stern-looking older man into an anteroom off the main lobby and told in no uncertain terms to wait there until he found Mr. Prescott.

  It took only a few minutes before Rand opened the door. “Ezra? What are you doing here? Is everything all right at the cot
tage? There was some serious trouble at Congressman Henderson’s house last night and—”

  Ezra thrust the note out in front of him. “I promised Miss Mercy I would give this to you mahself, suh,” he said, interrupting Rand.

  “Miss Mercy sent you?”

  Ezra nodded. “Yassuh.”

  “So there’s no trouble?”

  “Not at the cottage, suh.”

  “What is she up to?” Rand muttered. He tore through the wax seal and began to read the note. His demeanor quickly darkened, and he looked at Ezra through disbelieving eyes.

  “She’s gone?”

  Slowly, Ezra nodded. “Seem like it.”

  “Where? Where did she go?”

  Ezra shook his head. “Don’t know, suh. She didn’t say.”

  “Did she seem upset? Was she crying? Did someone come there and upset her? Did something happen?”

  “Nothin’ seemed wrong, Mr. Rand. Nothin’ seemed off. She had Isaac saddle the horse this morning and left. That be all.”

  “And you’re just now giving me the note?” Rand asked.

  “Doing as the lady tol’ me, Mr. Rand,” Ezra said.

  Rand frowned, ran a hand through his hair. “Do you know if she said something to Kizzy or Letty?”

  “I know Letty say Miss Mercy had a painful head last night and took to bed early. But she be fine this morning. Miss Mercy even tol’ Kizzy she be a fine cook.”

  Rand rubbed a knuckle over his jaw, glassy-eyed and stunned. “Thank you, Ezra. That will be all.”

  Ezra hesitated. “I be heading back to the cottage, then.”

  Rand nodded and started to close the door. “Let’s keep this between us for now, Ezra. All right?”

  Ezra nodded. “Yassuh.”

  Numb from shock, Rand shut the door and stared at the note that told him the love of his life was no longer able to marry him. What could have happened to make her change her mind? She loved him—of that he was sure. Why, then? Why call off the wedding—and where would she go? He felt a sudden chill when he realized she might have remembered something. Someone. He thought of the bald-faced lie he’d told his parents the night he declared his intention to marry Mercy.