Understanding Mercy

by Janelle Ashley

  “It would be my pleasure. The trail starts at nine. I’ll pick you up at eight thirty.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mercy frowned a bit as she asked, “Why do you want to come to the trial, Able?”

  “First of all, because I’m becoming a lawyer and second of all, because I care about your family and I want to watch this man get his due.”

  “How do you know he’s guilty?”

  Able looked at her with confusion, and then lifted a red eyebrow and asked, “Do you think he is not guilty?”

  “I think people are too quick to jump to conclusions.”

  “I agree. I absolutely agree. But in this case, Ian Macgregor has more than circumstantial evidence against him. He has cold, hard facts.” When she stared at him skeptically, he continued, “When the trial starts we’ll find out the truth.”

  He jumped to the ground and turned to help her mother out and then as he assisted her, his voice lowered with concern, “Try to get some sleep, Mercy. You look completely worn out.”

  She nodded. “I’ll try. Good afternoon, Able.” She quickly walked toward the house before he could see her cry. As quickly as she could, she raced up to her room and sprawled across her bed as the tears streamed down her face. For so many years she pictured her wonderful, perfect, beautiful life with Ian and now all those dreams were crashing down around her until she was left with nothing but rubble.

  ****

  With an agitated glance at Cecil, Addison stepped out of his coach and headed toward the doors of the church. Able Cotton, with his friendly face, approached him with a cheery, “What a nice surprise. Welcome to our church.”

  Addison shook his hand. “I didn’t know you came here. I thought you went to Redemption.”

  “I used to until I heard what the pastor there did to you. I couldn’t be a part of a church that treated people that way. When the pastor tried to justify his behavior to me, I knew I needed to leave before I did something wrong and got booted out too. And since I’m not perfect, the chances of my doing something wrong or having someone accuse me of doing something wrong are pretty high. And on top of that, the pastor criticized Mercy and said she was out of line in reprimanding him in a letter she wrote to defend you. Mercy is the nicest girl I know and I didn’t like him calling her pretentious. But this pastor and this church are different. I’m sure you will like it.” Able gave him a hearty pat to the back. “This place fills up quickly. You better find a seat.”

  As they walked toward the pew, Cecil handed him a Bible. “Here. This is yours. I bought my own.”

  Addison took it with nod. “Thank you.” He remembered the day long ago that Mercy had helped him pick out this Bible while wearing such an earnest little expression on her pretty face. She must have looked at ten Bibles before declaring this one was “perfect.” With disgust, he reprimanded himself for the hundredth time in the last few days for thinking about her. How long would it take to expel her from his mind? He hated this.

  Cecil motioned with his head. “Over here. Let’s find a seat.” Looking around the little gathering place Addison noticed something about the people mingling about—they all looked so happy. He knew he had just about everything the world had to offer, yet he didn’t feel the joy that so obviously radiated from the humble people in this room. An unpleasant emotion settled in his chest and he frowned when he realized it was jealously. He wanted this joy they had. He wanted it in the worst way. But he didn’t deserve it. He’d done too many things wrong in his life.

  Not only did he have the blood of British soldiers on his hands, but he’d carried on with women he had no intention of even seeing again. He never seduced an innocent girl, but that didn’t excuse his callous behavior to the countless women he’d used. But that wasn’t the worst of it. He cringed when he remembered the shipment of slaves he’d been forced to bring to Savannah his first year of being a captain. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but the owner of the ship insisted, and he’d given in out of weakness. To this day the lingering looks of terror on their faces made his stomach feel as if he had a rock in it. Their traveling conditions were hideous and many of them died on the treacherous journey. He winced as he remembered the tears on the mother’s face as he took the dead little girl from her arms and threw her overboard. And as if this was not bad enough, he had transported slaves two times more. God couldn’t forgive that. Addison wanted the rest for his soul that Hancock told him about, but a soul that had done such horrible things, deserved no rest.

  When he first got to Paris and met up with Blanche again, he made a comment about how he was tired because he’d been working so hard. She laughed and said, “Oh, well, as the good book says, ‘There is no rest for the wicked.” He questioned her if the Bible really said that and she flippantly replied, “Yes, I promise it says that, so since we are wicked and don’t rest, let’s stay up and do something naughty.” She could never have known the hope her words had killed in his heart. A man who transported slaves was wicked. A man who was wicked, could not have any rest for his soul. Therefore, he could never have rest and being here at this church was a big waste of time.

  A jolly looking older man walked up to the pulpit and announced, “Before I begin my message, let’s spend some time in worship. I taught you a song recently that was written by the famous British preacher John Newton. I would like to sing the beautiful song again and this time I want to tell you the story behind it. John Newton was not always a famous preacher. He used to be the captain of a ship. A ship that transported slaves.” At that, Addison’s heart leapt in his chest and he leaned forward with eagerness as the man continued, “A storm descended upon the ship and Newton called out to God and begged His forgiveness. Of course, God granted it because God is a forgiving God, and no sin is so great that God cannot forgive if we merely ask.”

  Was that true? Everything within Addison wanted to believe that was true. The man’s booming voice continued, “But John Newton struggled with believing that God had truly forgiven him for his past when he had such a difficult time forgiving himself. He fought hard against slavery, but still he wore his past around his neck like a shackle. He could not allow himself to break free and go forward. But one day as he read his Bible, Newton came to realize that salvation comes not because we are good, but because we recognize we are sinners. We are wretched, but God loves us and forgives us anyway. As Titus 3:5 says, ‘It is not by works of righteousness that we have done, but according to God’s mercy he has saved us.’ The thing is, we are all sinners and sinners need to be saved and the only thing that keeps anyone from being saved is they haven’t asked. John Newton wrote this song when he came to understand God’s Amazing Grace.”

  Addison felt warmth spread across his chest and he fought back tears. Could it be true? All he had to do was ask? The pastor’s deep, baritone voice began to sing the words, “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind, but now I see.”

  The wondrous words continued to roll over Addison and seep into his soul like a healing balm. Emotions overwhelmed him and rushed to the surface and spilled out in the form of tears. He quickly wiped at them with the back of his hand and then reached for his handkerchief.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed, “Oh, God. I’m a wretch. You know I’m a wretch. Forgive me. If you could forgive John Newton, you could forgive me. I’ve been lost, but you have found me. I’m yours if you will have me. I’m yours for the rest of my life and beyond. I have always been self-sufficient, but help me to cling to your hand as I walk from this life into eternity.”

  Not only did the words of the song touch him deeply, but so did the words of the sermon. The pastor spoke on chapter three in the gospel of John about how God loved the whole world and died for them so they may be saved. When the pastor said, “God didn’t send his son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world,” Addison felt as if his eyes had been opened. Now he knew what John Newton meant when he said th
at he was once blind, but now he could see.

  After the service, Addison watched as the children hung all over the pastor as he passed out candy to them with a big smile. The man positively exuded joy, and now Addison didn’t have to be jealous anymore. He had that joy too. He could feel it in the deepest places of his soul. As they walked outside, Addison remarked to Cecil, “Thank you for bringing me here. I’m not the same man who walked inside a short time ago.”

  “No. You are not. The sins which held you down were left there. Old things have been passed away and all things have become new.”

  “Now I understand the book Pilgrim’s Progress. Christian left his heavy burden at the foot of the cross and walked away free.”

  “I haven’t read that book.”

  “You should. I’m going to read it again now that I understand what it means.”

  Cecil gave him a big smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Now you will never be rid of me. We’ll spend eternity together.” Addison laughed and they walked home together while Jane sang the words of Amazing Grace in her pretty voice. This was a monumental time in his life and he knew from this point on, he would never be the same.

  Addison couldn’t wait to see Benjamin Franklin and tell him he understood what Pilgrim’s Progress meant. The burden on his back now rested at the foot of the cross and the rest of his life was a journey to the celestial city. Suddenly all that had been blurry, now became clear. Suddenly his life had true purpose and meaning and a definite destination. Suddenly his life made sense.

  Understanding Mercy

  Understanding Mercy

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Able Cotton’s coach rumbled along the streets of Boston, Mercy looked out at the cold, cloudy, disagreeable day. Thunder rumbled ominously and a dark cloud burst open and heavy drops of rain pounded upon the coach until the sound became almost deafening. When they pulled up in front of the courthouse, Mercy frowned to see the crowds of people milling around outside as if they were about to watch an entertaining sideshow. Didn’t they know that a man’s life was at stake? An innocent man.

  Able jumped out of the coach first and helped her father, and mother alight and then he offered his hand to her as he held his coat above her head. As she took his hand and descended, he whispered, “Mercy, I know this is difficult, but it will soon be over.” She nodded, but he could not possibly understand how difficult this was, and it would not soon be over. It would never be over. How could she ever be with Ian now after this horrendous scandal? All of her hopes and plans were being dashed upon the rocks by a powerful, punishing tide she could not control.

  Amidst the bustling crowds, Able ushered her family into the courthouse and they filed into their seats and waited. She saw people around the room glancing back at them and she wondered if they were thinking thoughts of compassion and pity, or scorn and ridicule. It was hard to tell. With shame she looked down and adjusted her gloves nervously and wished everyone would quit staring at them.

  Mercy closed her eyes to block out the disturbing sights, but the horrible sounds and smells still assaulted her. Heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, harsh whispers, and carriages rattling outside mingled with the overpowering smells of tallow wax candles, wet wool, tobacco, orange scented wig powder, and unwashed bodies mixed with the scents of heavy perfume overwhelmed her until she felt ill. She squeezed her eyes tighter, just wanting it all to go away.

  At last a man in a white wig with horizontal ringlets hanging to his waist stepped up to the bench and the proceedings began. Twelve men filed into the jury box and Mercy hoped these men could be fair and impartial for Ian’s very life rested in their hands. In shackles, Ian was led to a chair and she strained to see him. Finally, she caught a glimpse of his bruised and battered face, and a rush of strong emotions washed over her. She gripped her chair until her fingers turned white in an attempt to remain seated. It took every ounce of resolve she had to keep from rushing forward and throwing her arms around him. For the longest time her eyes bore into the back of his head. She wanted him to turn around—she willed him to turn around so he would know she sat here silently supporting him. But he stared straight ahead.

  Hour after hour after hour the lawyer presented condemning evidence against Ian. Her brain hurt trying to understand the twisted, complicated way the money had been embezzled from her father. She didn’t understand it completely, but one thing she could see, was that the embezzling began before she or Ian had even met Mr. Berkeley. As the day wore on, the wall of conviction she’d built up maintaining Ian’s innocence continued to be dismantled brick by brick. The evidence against him was not circumstantial. It was not flimsy. Ian had wrapped himself completely up in a web of deceit. Her father took the stand and answered questions and it broke her heart to see how difficult this was for him.

  After a break, the trail began with more of the same embezzling charges, but quickly became worse. A young, haggard looking man slowly walked to the witness stand and sank into the chair with a dour expression. After taking an oath, the lawyer questioned him, “State your name and your relationship with the accused.”

  “My name is Walter Hunt. I’m the cousin of the accused.”

  “I know this must be difficult to testify against a cousin, but—”

  The man cut him off. “Not really. When he was sixteen, he stole my horse and disappeared. I didn’t see him again until we were both stationed at Valley Forge. He begged my forgiveness and I gave it to him. He said the horse was stolen from him, but I doubt it. He has a gambling problem. He always has. Throughout our time at Valley Forge, he racked up gambling debts with some of the other soldiers that he could never repay.”

  Mr. Hunt covered a cough with his hand. “Umm…One night he got caught in a…in a compromising position with an officer’s wife, but he got away. He came to say good-bye to me and I tried to stop him from going since I knew the severe punishments for desertion. I told him to be a man and take responsibility for his bad behavior. He knocked me out and when I came to, I realized he’d stolen all my money, my coat, and my musket. He deserted the Army and changed his name. His real name is John Hunt. He has never sent a dime to support his widowed mother back in the Delaware Valley. My wife and I have taken her in, and we don’t have the money or the room to support her, but how could we leave her destitute. I’m surprised John has finally been caught. With his good looks and charm, he seems to weasel his way out of any and all consequences for his behavior.”

  Mercy felt as if a knife had plunged into her heart. This man could not be describing her Ian. There had to be some mistake. She thought this trial would prove Ian’s innocence, but instead it seemed to be proving his guilt over and over again. His commanding officer from Valley Forge testified that Ian Magregor and John Hunt were the same man and therefore he was to be given the penalties of desertion. She knew the punishments for desertion could be harsh—face branding, ear mutilation, or even hanging.

  That night Mercy lay in bed recounting the events of the horrible day. The bad nightmare she found herself living had become a horrendous night terror. Somehow she managed to go to sleep and the next day it started all over again. Owners from businesses around town testified that Ian had racked up debts he never paid. They all said he promised them money was coming soon and it would not be much longer. Soon. That certainly seemed to be Ian’s favorite word.

  Just when she thought the pressure squeezing at her heart could not become any more unbearable, another witness was called to the stand. A prostitute from Madame Framboise’s testified that Ian was one of the brothel’s best customers. Somehow this seemed to be the one establishment Ian didn’t owe money to. In fact, the woman said Ian was their biggest tipper.

  A gruff-looking man testified that Ian had been accused of cheating at cards and had been banned from his establishment. A justice of the peace from another county stated that Ian been charged with four counts of horse thievery, but he killed the guard and escaped from the jail. Each of these people painted
the picture of a horrible, selfish, evil person. But as distressing as all that was, nothing could’ve prepared Mercy for the next witness. A young, pretty, red-haired girl took the stand looking like a wounded, terrified little animal.

  The lawyer asked in a gentle voice, “State your name and relationship to the accused.”

  “Sarah Guiness. I’m...I’m…the mother of his child.”

  Audible gasps could be heard throughout the room and Mercy felt as if the knife that had been plunged into her heart now twisted. The question was asked, “How old are you?”

  “I’m sixteen.”

  “And how old is your child?”

  “He just turned one.”

  “And has the accused ever supported you in any way?”

  “No, sir.”

  “He has never given you money or offered any type of help.”

  “No, sir. He always said he would. He promised he was making money, and he would help me as soon as he could.”

  “But he never did. Even though he has been in possession of over one hundred thousand dollars of Mr. Creed’s money, you never saw one cent of it.”