He looked back at the barn. The need to converse with a compassionate soul gripped him hard. His mind instantly flew to Mercy Cox. Aside from his own sainted mother, he could think of no one else who possessed more maternal wisdom and caring than Mercy. And at this time of day, she should be home and most probably alone since Lucinda was doubtless safely inside her cabin, weaving at her new loom.
With resolute steps, he walked to Bob’s stall.
The mule lifted his nose from the manger and paused in chewing a mouthful of fragrant timothy hay.
Will rubbed the animal’s velvety muzzle. “Don’t get too comfortable with that hay, Bob. We have somewhere to go.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Lucinda walked to the jelly cupboard and pulled open one of the cabinet’s twin drawers. Had it been a week since she found Will in her front room constructing the loom?
Remembering the moment he took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes, her heart throbbed with a sweet ache. For that one instant, the two of them had seemed to teeter on the brink of something special…until Simeon yanked them back to reality. What had Will been about to say before his brother interrupted? Part of her longed to know, while another part of her was glad she didn’t.
But whatever affection she and Will might share, it didn’t matter. Witnessing the argument between Will and Simeon had convinced her to accept Esther’s offer and move back to Kentucky.
Glancing toward the living room, she smiled. Whether here in Serenity or down in Kentucky, Will’s loom would continue to provide a living for her and her child. She was eager to try it out and make that first promised rug for Will. But until she could get thread for warp and material for weft, the loom would have to sit idle.
She rifled through the drawer in search of paper on which to pen a letter to Esther. “Where is that writing paper?” But all she found were her recipe books, some canning lids, and sundry kitchen gadgets.
She sighed. The sooner she could get a letter to Esther, the sooner her sister and brother-in-law could begin making plans to fetch her and the baby down to Kentucky in the spring.
Abandoning the first drawer, she tried the second but still found no paper. Suddenly she remembered the last time she’d written a letter to her sister. Mercy had provided her with the writing paper and envelope.
She glanced out the kitchen window where large snowflakes filled the air. The thought of leaving the warm cabin and going out into the snowy day made her shiver. Also, the winding lane with its steep downgrade in places could become slick and treacherous when snow covered. On the other hand, the wind appeared light, and she’d walked the mile to Mercy’s house through snow showers many times. And if Mercy could spare the warp thread, Lucinda could weave a rug for her in exchange for the paper and envelope.
After tying on her black wool bonnet and wrapping her warmest shawl around her shoulders, she picked up her market basket from beside the kitchen door and left. Outside, she pulled her shawl closer around her and grinned, thinking how Will would scold her if he knew she was out in the snow.
So far, the snow had hardly made a dusting on the frozen, packed dirt lane. Using extra care, she made it down the lane and to the road without any problem. She had gone only a few yards when she heard the rumbling sound of a horse and wagon in the distance behind her.
Moving to the edge of the road, she looked over her shoulder to see who was coming. Her heart jumped. Even at the distance of a quarter mile, Will’s mule, Bob, with his lop-ears and loping gait, was unmistakable.
Lucinda turned back and resumed walking. Hopefully, he would just give her a friendly wave and continue on down the road. But as the sound of the wagon and mule became louder, the clopping of the mule’s hooves slowed.
“Lucinda.” Will’s voice held no censure, only mild surprise as the wagon and mule came to a stop. “If thee is going to Mercy’s, I would be happy to take thee.”
Lucinda’s mind raced, trying to think of a credible reason to decline his offer. “I would not want to cause thee more trouble with thy brother.” She wished her silly heart would cease its jubilant hopping. At least he would likely attribute any redness in her cheeks to the cold temperature.
His face turned as cloudy as the gray sky behind him. “Simeon is my brother, not my master.” With that, he climbed to the ground and helped her up to the seat with the greatest of care.
“I was on my way to Mercy’s myself,” he said as he settled beside her and flicked the reins down on Bob’s rump. He shot her a sideways grin from beneath the wide brim of his hat. “Thee was right. It was silly of me to think a loom would keep thee home. I hope I constructed it properly and it works well.”
Lucinda turned her head away so her bonnet would hide her smile. “I don’t know. I’m hopin’ to get some warp thread and rags from Mercy so I can begin a rug.”
“I’m sorry. I never thought…I reckon I should have brought thee some with the loom.”
His penitent tone squeezed Lucinda’s heart. How could he imagine he owed her anything more after gifting her with such an expensive item as a loom? She placed her hand on his forearm. “I didn’t expect thee to bring me thread. Thee has done far too much already.”
Will became quiet, and his pensive look filled her with regret. Was he thinking of Simeon’s warning? They traveled the rest of the way in silence except for the clopping of Bob’s feet on the frozen road.
Lucinda knew she should tell Will of her plans to move back to Kentucky in the spring. But they’d arrived at Mercy’s house, and this was not the proper moment to blurt out her news. Will deserved a full explanation as to why she had made such a decision, and she needed time to give him one.
Will climbed down first and then helped her down. Would she ever again feel as safe as she did in Will’s hands?
When they reached the front door, Will knocked twice. When several seconds passed and no answer came, he knocked twice again.
Still no answer.
“She’s probably in the kitchen.” Lucinda opened the door. “Mercy is always telling me that if she doesn’t answer the door and it’s unlocked, to just come in.” She walked into the front room, but Mercy was nowhere in sight. “Mercy.”
Only the crackling of the fire in the belly of the stove in the corner answered her call.
A sick feeling began to grow in the pit of Lucinda’s stomach. She hurried to the kitchen with Will at her heels but found no sign of Mercy. Lucinda checked Mercy’s bedroom on the first floor. It was empty as well. Will bounded up the stairs to check the two rooms there and then came down an instant later.
“She’s not up there,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
The wad of worry balling in Lucinda’s stomach grew. “I don’t understand it. Where could she be?”
“She’s probably just gone into town or to visit someone,” Will said. Though his tone was light, Lucinda saw concern in his gray eyes.
Lucinda shook her head. “I’ve never known her to leave the front door unlocked when she leaves home.”
Will smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she just forgot to lock the door. Stay here in the warmth. I’ll go check the barn to see if her horse and buggy are gone.”
Lucinda nodded, but unable to stay still, she headed for the kitchen the moment he closed the front door behind him. Something compelled her to open the back door and step out on the porch. “Mercy,” she called.
This time a soft moan sounded just beyond the far end of the porch. Lucinda hurried to the spot, and terror leaped into her chest. Mercy lay in the snow, her bleeding head leaning against the house’s stone foundation.
Chapter 8
The best I can tell, the bones are intact.” Dr. Jennings finished tying the bandage he’d wrapped around Mercy’s head. “But I fear thy head may be slightly concussed, and thee has badly sprained thy wrist and ankle.”
At the doctor’s diagnosis, Lucinda sniffed back tears and clutched Mercy’s uninjured hand. She couldn’t bear t
o think what might have happened if she and Will had not come by.
“Oh, don’t fret thyself, Lucinda.” Wincing, Mercy raised her head from the pillow and then sank back with a groan. “I’m just a little banged up. Nothin’ Dr. Jennings can’t fix.”
“But thee could have died.” Fresh tears rolled down Lucinda’s cheeks, and Will slid a comforting arm around her shoulder. The doctor eyed the move with a critical glance, and Lucinda experienced a flash of concern that Dr. Jennings, an elder at Serenity Friends Meeting, might mention what he saw to Will’s brother.
Mercy slipped her good hand from Lucinda’s fingers and touched her bandaged head. “Reckon I deserved it for chasing that raccoon off my back porch with the broom, but the critter eats the scraps I put out for the barn cats.” She gave another low moan. “I must have hit a patch of ice, because the next thing I knew I went flyin’.”
“Well.” The doctor snapped his black leather bag shut. “The raccoon is safe for a while. Thee won’t be going out there again anytime soon. Actually,” he said as he rose from the chair beside Mercy’s bed, “I suggest thee have someone come here and stay with thee until that ankle heals, which will probably take two or three weeks.”
“No.” Mercy rolled her head on the pillow.
“Mercy.” Will bent nearer to the woman’s bedside. “I know thee is used to taking care of thyself, but now thee needs—”
“I know I will need help for a while, but I don’t want to stay here.” Mercy looked at Lucinda. “I might as well go to thy place now. I’d planned to stay with thee after the first of the year anyway.” She grinned, and her gaze slid to Will. “And when my hand gets well enough, I want to try out that fine loom thee bought Lucinda.” Now she turned her attention to Dr. Jennings. “Can thee get me in thy buggy?”
The doctor scowled and grasped his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He bounced a narrow-eyed glance between Lucinda and Will. “Although I would normally recommend that thee stay put, in this case it might be best if thee did go to stay with Lucinda. I think with Will’s help, and so long as thee doesn’t put any weight on thy injured foot, we should be able to manage moving thee.”
Lucinda bundled Mercy in a warm shawl and tied her black wool bonnet beneath her chin. At Mercy’s instructions, Will gathered up spools of warp thread and bags of rug rags so Lucinda could make promised rugs in Mercy’s stead. Then with Will and Dr. Jennings supporting her, Mercy hopped out to the doctor’s buggy. The four headed to Lucinda’s cabin with the buggy in the lead and Will and Lucinda following in the wagon.
A few minutes later, in Lucinda’s front room, Will and Dr. Jennings ensconced Mercy in the big horsehair-upholstered chair that had once belonged to Alan’s father. Under doctor’s orders to keep her injured ankle elevated, Will brought a chair from the kitchen, and Lucinda placed a feather pillow on the seat.
Dr. Jennings eased Mercy’s stocking-clad foot onto the pillow. Then taking a step back, he crossed his arms over his chest. After giving Lucinda a skeptical glance, he eyed Mercy. “Is thee sure thee wouldn’t like for me to send another one of the ladies from Meeting to see to thee? I’m sure any number would be happy to—”
“Lucinda is quite capable, I’m sure.” Giving her a confident smile, Mercy settled back in the chair.
Dr. Jennings dropped his double chin to his chest and gave a muted harrumph. “Of course.” With that, he reiterated his instructions and took his leave.
Will lingered. “I will come by soon to check on thy firewood and see to thy outside chores.” Though he spared Mercy a glance, his gaze rested gently on Lucinda’s face.
The big chair creaked softly as Mercy sat forward. She looked first at Will and then at Lucinda. A hint of a smile touched her lips. And though it might have been but the reflection of the fireplace flames, Lucinda thought she caught sight of a knowing glint in the older woman’s eyes. “I praise God that thee came by my house this afternoon, Will, but thee never said for what reason thee came.”
Will’s gaze dropped to the scuffed toes of his black boots as if pondering his reply. Finally he raised his face, and with a glance at Lucinda, he looked at Mercy and smiled. “I believe God sent me.”
Two days later, Will’s words still rang in Lucinda’s ears as she sat weaving at the loom. Had God sent Will…not only to Mercy but to Lucinda as well? It didn’t matter. In the spring she and her child would be moving back to Kentucky. But so far, she hadn’t found the words to tell Mercy of her decision.
She looked over at Mercy, who sat reading her Bible by the sunlight spilling through the front window over her shoulder. Lucinda couldn’t remember the last time she’d even picked up the Bible, let alone read it. If she’d ever had any faith—any Light in the first place—it had obviously gone out. And it was high time she told Mercy.
After beating down a line of woven weft she paused, shuttle in her hand. “I’m moving back to Kentucky in the spring,” she blurted.
Mercy looked up from the pages of her Bible, concern pinching her features. “But thy father warned thee not to come back. Thee must think of thy child. It may not be safe.”
“Pa is dead.” Lucinda turned back to the loom and her weaving. “I got a letter from my sister Esther. She told me that Pa had died and that she wanted me to come back and live with her and her man, Lonny. That’s why I went to your house two days ago—to get some sheets of writing paper so I could write and tell her to come and get me in the spring.”
“Thee has stopped using the plain speech. Has thee turned from the faith, then?” Mercy’s voice was tinged with sorrow.
Sighing, Lucinda faced Mercy. “I’m not even sure I ever had any faith. And no, I’m not a Quaker anymore.” She swallowed down the wad of tears that had gathered in her throat. “Naomi Davis says I’m an impostor, that I was never sanctified. And she and Simeon don’t like Will comin’ here.” She didn’t even try to mask the bitterness in her voice as she recounted to Mercy what had transpired between Will and Simeon the day he brought her loom.
Anger flashed in Mercy’s blue eyes. “Thy sanctification is not for Simeon and Naomi to judge, and I’d advise them to heed Christ’s warnin’ about doin’ so.” The anger lines left her brow, and she breathed a soft sigh. “Child.” Her tone held patient kindness. “I saw thy convincement. I know it was real. But I fear thy faith was too new, too young and tender to withstand the gale of grief that assailed thee. Thee needs to nurture thy faith, not turn thy back on it.”
New tears sprang in Lucinda’s eyes, and she blinked them away. “And why should I have faith in a God who abandoned me?”
“Dear one.” Mercy leaned forward in her chair. “God has not abandoned thee. He says in His Word that He will never abandon us.” The pages of the Bible whispered as she thumbed through them. “‘Be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee,’” she read.
She laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the open pages. “God’s plan for our lives is like a road. For a stretch it may go in a straight line. But sometimes when we don’t expect it, there is a fork in the road, and if we don’t seek God’s direction, we can get lost.”
Lucinda stepped on the treadle and slid the shuttle through the open threads. “But…but when we come to a fork, how do we know what direction to go?”
Mercy tapped the Bible. “It’s all in here. Next week is Christmas, and Christmas is all about God sending His Son to find the lost and show them the way they should go.” She grinned. “I think God has been giving thee signs all along as to what direction He wants thy life to go. Thee is just ignoring them.” She paused. “Like Will, bringing thee this loom.”
At Mercy’s mention of Will, Lucinda froze and nearly dropped the shuttle. Recovering, she focused again on her work. “So what do you think God is trying to tell me?” She couldn’t help the bitter tone that crept into her voice.
“I think,” Mercy said, “that God is telling thee to continue thy weaving.” Then cocki
ng her head in a thoughtful pose, she gave Lucinda a knowing smile. “And maybe something more.”
Chapter 9
Conflict swirled through Lucinda’s heart like the gusting wind that swept showers of fine snow from the porch roof.
Would Will stop by on his way to the mill this morning? Did she even want him to?
In the days since Mercy’s accident, many members of Serenity Friends Meeting had come by to offer their good wishes, prayers, and help. But Will had not been back. After Simeon’s warning to Will and Dr. Jennings’s critical looks, Lucinda couldn’t blame Will for staying away. Still, it hurt to think that he had bowed to Simeon’s wishes, especially since Mercy was here now to chaperone.
Hugging her wool shawl tighter around her shoulders, she took careful steps toward the diminishing woodpile next to the front door. Her hope gusted with the wind. Still, he might stop. He rarely allowed her supply of wood to dwindle lower than half a rick.
She lifted her face to the December wind that snatched at her hair. With a crooked finger, she caught an errant lock that had escaped its pinned moorings and tucked it behind her ear. Squinting, she peered beyond the snowy field across the road to the Davis family woods. The bare trees appeared sketched with charcoal onto the pristine whiteness of last night’s snowfall.
Will always replenished her firewood from the cords of cut wood he kept stacked near this entrance to his family’s woods. If he had driven his wagon into the woods this morning, she should see some evidence in the new-fallen snow.
Yes, she could see tracks now, where the snow blushed beneath the kiss of the morning sun. Her heart quickened at the sight of the muddy gouges that disfigured the otherwise unblemished blanket of snow. The tracks made by a wagon’s wheels disappeared into the shadows between the two large barren oaks that stood sentry on either side of the forest path. But her next thought reined in her galloping heart. The indentions might not have been made by Will’s wagon at all, since he and Simeon allowed several of their neighbors to use the woods as well.
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 11