He took the man to an inn and paid for him to recuperate there. He was concerned about his welfare. Helping this man cost him dearly in time and money. He even risked his life because the robbers could have been near and attacked again. But helping the injured man was more important to him.
When Jesus told this story he asked, “Which one of these men was the neighbor to the man who was hurt?” The answer was obvious. The neighbor was the one who helped him, when he needed it.
Jesus preached that our goal in life should be to love God with our whole heart, mind and soul, and to love our neighbor as our self.
That’s it!
Sometimes I am amazed that so many people who claim to be believers miss this simple fact entirely. Pleasing God isn’t about looking polished—it’s about helping others in need.
I hope I have not overstepped my bounds by writing this letter to you. This passage of scripture always speaks to me about the importance of helping those who need help, and I hope and pray it speaks to you as well.
Mr. Berkeley is an innocent man, but these false accusations could hurt him greatly. He could really use a friend right now. I hope and pray you can be the Good Samaritan and help him, since we both know this is what pleases the heart of God.
Sincerely,
Mercy Creed
She dropped the letter to her lap and looked up at her father. “What do you think?”
“I like it. I’m sure he will not.”
“Why do you say that?”
His mouth turned down slightly at the corners as he considered his words. “Because I’m sure he considers himself an important man, and he will not appreciate being reproved by a young girl. Some pastors are used to people hanging on their every word, and they have a false sense of their own importance. Go ahead and send the letter to him, but don’t expect him to change his mind.”
“I will not expect anything, but I still want him to have it. Can you drop it off to him for me, please?”
He took the letter. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” She reached over and took his hand. “I made another copy so I could show Mr. Berkeley what I wrote.”
“Good. Well, I best be on my way.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead, stood and quickly left the room.
She hated to see her father with added stress. Just thinking about Cordelia made her so angry she could feel her ears getting hot. Cordelia, and probably her mother too, had spread these awful rumors about her, trying to make something petty into a huge problem.
Mercy had the power to destroy them both if she wanted to. One leaked word that Cordelia’s father had impregnated a slave while his own wife was pregnant would be so scandalous they could hardly show their face in public again.
Oh, how she wanted to. But she couldn’t. First of all, Daisy would get hurt in the process, and second, she could not justify lowering herself to their level.
An old Chinese proverb said, “Those who sling mud, lose ground.” She had no desire to be a mudslinger…or to lose ground.
But she did need to speak with Mr. Turner since he was back in town this week. Dashing off a quick note that asked him to come over as soon as possible, she handed the note to their footman Barry and asked him to deliver it next door.
Barry looked at her with concern. “Are the rumors true, Miss Creed? Because if they are, I will kill him.”
“No! The rumors aren’t even slightly true, so spread the truth as quickly as possible.”
“Are you sure? Because I saw the way he touched your wrist that day.”
“Are you serious, Barry? Touching my wrist is a far cry from raping me. How can you compare the two, and how can you question me? If Mr. Berkeley actually raped me, I would want him punished. I would certainly not defend him.”
He nodded and turned to deliver the note.
She called out after him, “See if you can get Mr. Turner to come back here with you. I need to speak with him right away.”
Again he nodded as he walked out the door.
About twenty minutes later, Barry ushered Mr. Turner into the parlor. Mercy offered him a seat close to the fire. Mr. Turner sank into a chair, looking like a mere shell of a man.
She’d seen this vacant look upon other men who had a difficult wife. He looked old, wrinkled, frail and beaten down. But she supposed that at one time he could’ve been a handsome, vibrant man.
She wasn’t sure where to start, but she needed to start somewhere. “Mr. Turner, I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but I need your help.”
“My help?”
“Yes. I think sometimes things that are hidden get rotten and moldy, but if they are brought out into the light…well, what I’m trying to say is that I figured out Daisy is your daughter…”
At the look of sheer terror on his face, she stopped and put her hand reassuringly on his shoulder.
“Please know I have no desire to use this information against you. I’ve come to care for Daisy deeply and would never want to see her hurt in any way. She said nothing to me about being your daughter and even tried to deny it at first, but the resemblance between Cordelia and Daisy is remarkable even though Daisy is a mulatto, she…”
“Actually, Daisy is a quadroon. Her mother was a mulatto.” In spite of the anxiety in his voice, Mercy heard the tenderness when he spoke of Daisy’s mother.
She leaned forward a bit in her chair. “You loved her mother, didn’t you?”
He nodded slowly. “We were playmates as children, but then it changed as we grew older. She was smart, beautiful and kind. She loved me too. I would have married her if I could.”
“Your parents would not allow it?”
“Of course not. I was the first-born son, chosen to run the plantation. I could not marry one of my own slaves. My parents forced a marriage with the daughter of the wealthiest man in Savannah. She resented the marriage too.” His thin voice wavered. “I tried to make her happy but never could.”
“I’m not here to judge you, Mr. Turner. I promise. But I believe Cordelia knows Daisy is her half-sister.”
Dismay and confusion covered his face. “She couldn’t know. How could she know?”
“She has a mirror. If I can see the remarkable resemblance between your two daughters, you don’t think she can see it too?”
She let out a tight breath. “Besides, it’s the only thing that explains Cordelia’s irrational hatred of Daisy.”
He just stared at her with broken eyes.
Mercy continued, “I’m not sure if you know, but I taught Daisy to read. She is absolutely brilliant. When Cordelia found out about it, she came to confront me and found me talking with Mr. Berkeley. He had his hands on my shoulders, but nothing more. He never even kissed me.
“But when Cordelia found me, she flew into a rage saying I had no right to teach her slave to read. She swore to make sure I was punished. Both Mr. Berkeley and I tried to calm her down, but that just made it worse. She screamed that she would make us pay. And she has. Oh, she has.”
Mercy fingered the embroidering on the handkerchief Daisy had given her. “Cordelia started a horrible rumor that she caught Mr. Berkeley trying to rape me. I don’t even know how she knew what that was. I didn’t until this morning.
“Anyway, there isn’t an ounce of truth in it, but the lie has caught hold and it’s ruining both our lives. I need to ask Cordelia to try to undo the damage she’s created, but I’m afraid of speaking with her alone. I need your help.”
He shook his head dejectedly. “Cordelia doesn’t listen to me. She’s just like her mother. I gave up trying years ago.”
“You are her father. You need to do something.”
“If I don’t do something, will you spread the truth about me?”
“No, of course not. I haven’t told a living soul. Not even my parents. I will not spread the truth about you, but are you telling me you will sit back and allow your daughter to spread lies about me…and Mr. Berkeley?”
“Miss C
reed, I’ll try to get Cordelia to stop, but it won’t do any good. I know my daughter.”
“Mr. Turner, I’ll not presume to tell you how to run your family, but not getting the truth out in the open with your daughters is just hurting both of them. If you want my advice, tell Cordelia the truth that Daisy is your daughter and then set Daisy free. If she has no where else to go, we can pay her to be my maid.”
She knew Mr. Berkeley would give her the money if her father didn’t have it. She hated to ask him for money, but she would in a case like this.
The poor man stared at the fire. “If I set her free, I may not see her again. She’s all I have left of her mother.”
“Would her mother want her to be whipped by a resentful girl just for reading?”
“Cordelia whipped her?” The man spoke with no emotion, but she could sense his concern.
“Yes, and your wife whipped her as well. Priscilla told me Daisy’s back is covered in welts. If you truly loved your daughter, you would not allow her to endure that type of abuse just so you could selfishly see her once in awhile. And if you set her free, you can know that if she chooses to see you it will be as a daughter who loves her father and not just a slave who must obey her master.”
He let out a deep breath and ran his hands through his thinning hair, his expression both thoughtful and pain-filled.
After a long silence, he looked at her. “You are a kind girl, Mercy Creed. I’m truly sorry about what Cordelia is doing to you. I’ll ask her to stop, and I’ll consider setting Daisy free. You’ve given me much to think about.”
As if to justify himself, he said, “Did you know George Washington’s stepson Jacky had a daughter with one of his slaves before he died in the war. Her name is Anne and she is an inside slave at their household.”
“No. I didn’t know that. But I do know the Marquis de Lafayette is pressuring Mr. Washington to release his slaves. Lafayette said he wouldn’t have supported us in the war if he’d known we’d continue the barbaric practice of slavery. Mr. Washington respects him, and will hopefully listen and set his slaves free. What an example it would be.”
Again, he nodded slowly. The man seemed to move in slow motion. Pushing himself to his feet with a weary effort, he made his way out of the room.
Mercy ushered him to the front door and called out, “Good bye, Mr. Turner.”
Without turning around, he muttered, “Good bye, Miss Creed.” As she watched him shuffle back to the house all she could think was…poor man.
Poor, pathetic, broken man.
Later in the afternoon, Priscilla came bustling into the room with a frantic, “Tell me it’s not true.”
“Oh please, Priscilla. You know it’s not true. Cordelia flew into a rage about me teaching Daisy to read. She stormed over to my garden and found me standing by Mr. Berkeley with his hands on my shoulders. That’s all. We both tried to calm her down but she screamed that she would make us pay.”
Priscilla grabbed her hands tight. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. Maybe it will all blow over soon.”
“Hopefully.” But her strained voice didn’t reveal much hope.
That night, Mercy fell into bed drained, discouraged, and completely exhausted. She glanced over at the clock. Ten o’clock.
She thought about reading until eleven. Instead she blew out the candle on her nightstand. The rain pounded against the window, and all she wanted to do was snuggle under her down comforter and get warm.
The thought of sneaking out in the cold weather to sit alone in the gazebo while waiting for Ian held no appeal. If he wanted to pout and ignore her, then she could do no less in return. Yawning, she rolled over and fell asleep.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Nine
Dark grey clouds actively rolled and changed shapes, but for now the rain seemed to be held at bay. Mercy wore her favorite bright yellow dress and she nervously twisted the ribbons on the sides as she and her father and mother walked into Mr. Berkeley’s office.
A friendly man sitting behind the desk, jumped up with a cheery, “Welcome, I’m Cecil Branson. Come into Addison’s, wait, I mean Mr. Berkeley’s office. He sent over a note that he is running a few minutes behind schedule. Let’s have some tea and sit by the fire while we wait for him.”
Mercy followed the pudgy, jolly looking man into the office and gasped. She’d never seen such a beautiful room in her life. It was stunning and elegant, yet comfortable…just like its owner.
Mr. Branson poured everyone some tea and then leaned back in his chair. “It’s an honor to meet you Mr. Creed. I think it’s interesting what a small world this is. I met Addison when he was a little boy. He asked me if he helped sell my chestnuts would I give him some burlap to keep him warm. We made a deal and he ran and sold those chestnuts to you. It was your little girl’s christening. Addison remarked to me later that she was so pretty. Now here she sits, all grown up and being courted by Addison too.”
Her father remarked, “I remember that day and that little boy. He was Mr. Berkeley?”
Mercy looked at her father in surprise. “You didn’t know that, Daddy? Mr. Berkeley told me that story the first time I met him. I assumed you knew.”
He shook his head. “I’ve only met him briefly a few times and he never said anything.”
Cecil answered with a big smile. “He wanted to tell you. He tried, but he got intimidated by you.”
“Intimidated by me? You must be joking.”
“You have always been the image of the ultimate man to him. You had a huge impact upon him the day you gave him those coins. No one had ever shown him such kindness.”
Her father nodded with a faraway look on his face. “I remember that day like it was yesterday.”
Mr. Branson smiled, “Me too. That day changed my life too, so I’ll never forget it. I often wonder where my life would be if I hadn’t met Addison.”
Her father leaned forward. “Why is that?”
“I was a loafer and a scoundrel when I met Addison. He was only nine and already had a strong code of honor. We joined a ship together and became fast friends even though I was ten years older.”
Mr. Branson sighed, a look of gratitude on his face. “He taught me to read, write and instilled in me the satisfaction of hard work. Throughout his life, Addison has achieved many successes yet he always shared them with me.”
He motioned down to his fine, wool suit. “Look at me. Because of Addison, I’ve come a long way from hawking chestnuts. I’m now the assistant to one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Americas.”
Mercy smiled at the man. “He was blessed the day he met you too, Mr. Branson. A faithful friend is one of life’s greatest treasures.”
“Thank you, Miss Creed.” He almost looked like he might cry. “Thank you for saying so.”
A compelling question swirled inside Mercy and almost unbidden, it slipped from her lips. “Mr. Branson, did Mr. Berkeley ever beat his sailors when he captained the ship?”
A look of complete bewilderment covered his face before he replied carefully, “Beat them? No. He had to administer a few whippings, and sometimes he delegated the unpleasant task to me. But he does not have a mean streak in him and he didn’t enjoy doing it.”
Mr. Branson frowned at her look of dismay when he mentioned the whippings. “Miss Creed. A Captain must maintain order. Many sailors are rebellious, therefore at times the Captain must administer discipline or chaos would occur.”
He leaned forward, a serious look in his eyes, “But Addison is a fair and honorable man. After the appropriate discipline, Addison always offered them mercy. He is a man who believes in second changes. His sailors respected and admired him and that is why even now many of them would follow him to their deaths. There is something about the man that fosters loyalty. Perhaps that is why I’ve been willing to follow him for almost twenty years.”
“You’ve followed him since he was nine years ol
d?” Mercy asked.
“Pretty much. Even at nine years old, he had the same wise ways about him. From the day I met him, he has tried to take care of me. He is quite protective of those he cares about.”
“You seem to admire him greatly.” Mercy said.
“I definitely admire him. He is a good man.”
The door burst open. Mercy jumped and the teacup rattled against the saucer in her hand. Mr. Berkeley stood in the doorway, positively radiating power and energy like he always did.
Understanding Mercy Page 17