by Cindy Kelley
“Please make sure Miss Charlotte’s room is freshened,” Suzanne said.
“Chessie already seen to it, missus,” Rose answered.
“Then see to the green room down the hall from Miss Charlotte’s,” she said, “and make sure Juba knows there will be two more for supper.”
“Yassum,” Rose said. She hurried from the room.
“Your friend Isaac can have his meal in the kitchen with Juba or in the colored camp with his own kind.”
Mercy nodded. “All right.”
“Now, I’m sure you would both like to clean up,” Suzanne said. “Change into something suitable for supper.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything more suitable,” Mercy said. “This is my only dress.”
“Hardly, darling. Though they are outdated now, you have a wardrobe filled with dresses upstairs in your room.”
Mercy was touched. “You’ve kept a room for me all these years? Kept my clothes?”
“We never stopped praying for your return,” Suzanne said. She crossed the few steps to Mercy and put a hand on her cheek. “Tonight I will be thanking God that He answered those prayers. Even against all the odds that seem to have been stacked against you.” She pressed her lips to Mercy’s cheek. “Welcome home, my dear Charlotte.”
Mercy felt the emotion bubble up in her own throat. “Thank you, Mother.”
Her stepmother stepped back. “Your room is at the top of the stairs. Third door on the right. Mr. Hale—fourth door on the left from the staircase. I’ll see you both in the dining room at half past the hour.”
Suzanne swept out of the room. Beau looked at Mercy. “I couldn’t enlist. Too young, Father said. It was all I wanted. To fight for the South.” He issued a curt laugh. “So typical that you managed to do what I couldn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “It’s old news, your capability against my ineptitude. But I am happy to see you looking so well, big sister. Welcome home.”
He kissed her cheek and then left the room. Victoria also moved toward Mercy and placed a delicate hand on her arm. “It will be just like old times, Char. I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re home!”
“Thank you, Victoria,” Mercy said.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to change for supper,” Victoria said. She left, leaving Mercy and Elijah alone in the parlor.
Elijah looked at her. “Well? How do you feel?”
“It’s so strange to be in this house with those people and hear them calling me Charlotte. I keep wanting to turn around and look for her—for Charlotte.” She frowned. “I’m sad about my parents. Sad I’ll never get to know them now.” Then she smiled. “But I’m happy too. Happy to finally have some answers to my questions.”
“I’m happy for you,” Elijah said. “And I don’t want to be the damper on your first evening with your family. Are you positive you want me to stay tonight? It’s not too late for me to leave …”
“In spite of my behavior or things I may have said in the past … I do appreciate all the help you’ve given me, Elijah, and strange as it may be, you and Isaac are the only things familiar to me right now. I’ll admit it will be nice to have you at supper.”
“Fine. Then I’ll stay for tonight,” he said. “I don’t know what Isaac is going to do, but I will be on my way in the morning.”
When they reached the top of the staircase, Mercy turned to Elijah. “I trust you can find your room?”
“I think as well as you can.”
“Touché,” she said. “I will see you at supper.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mercy opened the double doors that led to her bedroom and paused at the threshold. Part of her wanted nothing more than to hide in the room and think about everything she’d learned in the past hour. But instead, she stepped onto the blue Persian rug that ran the length of the floor and took it all in. The room must have been truly lovely at one time, but it now bore the scars of the Yankee invasion in the form of ripped wallpaper and gouged furniture. The four-poster bed was missing the canopy, and the marble-topped dresser was cracked in several places. Twin floor-to-ceiling windows were framed with heavy blue velvet drapes. An armoire sat against one wall, with a large wardrobe on the other, and a claw-foot tub half-filled with water, occupied a platform in the corner.
She crossed to one window, which framed a view of the rice fields and, behind them, a wide, meandering river. The lush greens were so varied it resembled an artist’s rendering against a backdrop of shimmering water. Even the muted bluish gray sky was beautiful.
The door opened and Mercy turned to see Chessie enter the room. The old woman glanced in her direction, then without a word crossed toward the tub, her body tilting to the side from the weight of a bucket in one hand. Chessie started to pour water from the bucket over the side of the porcelain tub.
There was a quick knock on the door, and Victoria came breezing in. “I thought I should choose what you’ll wear, just like the old days,” she said. “I mean, just because you don’t remember the old days doesn’t mean we can’t do it, right?”
Mercy smiled. “Yes, that would be nice.”
Victoria went to the large wardrobe and threw open the door. “Let’s see now … I’m going to wear yellow so—”
“Tub’s full,” Chessie declared.
“Thank you for doing that, Chessie,” Mercy said.
“Jes doin’ my job.” Chessie started back toward the door.
Victoria rifled through dozens of dresses, then pulled a lavender gown from the rack. “Now we don’t have to worry that we’ll match, Char. Two unique sisters.” Victoria laid the dress across the end of the bed and addressed Chessie. “Isn’t Charlotte’s news the strangest thing you’ve ever heard, Chessie?”
Chessie stopped and turned. “Dunno what’choo mean, Miss Victoria.”
“Charlotte can’t remember any of us—any of this,” Victoria said, sweeping her hand around the room.
“I was hurt,” Mercy said. “A head injury gave me something called amnesia. It means I’ve lost all my memories of this place. Growing up. My family. You.”
Chessie took the news stoically. “You sayin’ you don’t ’member me one whit?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“She only knows you were her mammy because Mother told her,” Victoria said.
“I don’t remember anything of my life here,” Mercy said. “I don’t remember anyone from my life here.”
Chessie stared at her. “Huh.”
“Don’t feel bad, Chessie,” Victoria said. “She didn’t know me or Beau—and we’re blood kin.”
“I’m sorry,” Mercy said.
“Kin you help it?” Chessie asked.
Mercy shook her head. “No.”
“Den being sorry don’t make no sense.”
“Just think about it, Char … if you hadn’t seen that portrait of Father and thought he looked familiar, you might never have found us,” Victoria said. “Such a lucky twist of fate.” Victoria made her way toward the door. “I’ve got to change for supper. See you downstairs.” She slipped out of the room, leaving Chessie and Mercy alone.
Chessie nodded at the tub. “Bath’s ready.”
As Chessie busied herself at the armoire, Mercy took the opportunity to maintain a little modesty and quickly stepped out of her dress and stepped into the tub. She sighed from the sheer luxury of the warm water and the scent of lemon soap. Chessie carried lacy undergarments back to the bed and put them beside the dress. She moved slowly, methodically, eyes anywhere but on Mercy. Finally, she brought a thick towel and draped it over the edge of the tub.
Mercy looked up at her. “I have so many questions …”
“Imagine so.”
“I’m hoping you can answer some of them for me.”
> “I jes be da help. Ask yo’ family,” Chessie said.
“But if you raised me, you’d know me as well as, or even better than they would,” Mercy said.
Chessie looked at her. “You kin raise a chil’ and end up not knowin’ ’em at all.” She nodded at the towel. “I’ll hep you into yo’ dress when you done.”
Chessie turned away from the tub, shuffled toward the bed, and Mercy rose out of the water. She wrapped herself in the towel. “Did you ever meet my mother? I don’t mean Suzanne. I mean my real mother?”
“Jes one or two times,” Chessie said. “I come here wit yo’ granddaddy ’afore you was born.”
Mercy made her way across the room. “Can you tell me anything about her?”
Chessie shook her head. “No, I cain’t.” She shrugged.
“What about her name?” Mercy persisted, while she donned the things on the bed. “Do you remember her name?”
“Marie.” Chessie picked up the dress from the bed and held both arms out in front of her to keep the material off the floor.
“Marie. That’s a beautiful name,” Mercy said. “It’s strange, but until just a little while ago I didn’t even know my own name. When I went to stay with some nuns for a time, they started calling me Mercy.”
Chessie snorted derisively and shook her head.
“What?” Mercy asked.
Another shake of her head. “Ain’t nothin’. You ready for yo’ dress?”
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Mercy said. “You really don’t have to do any of this. I’m perfectly capable of getting dressed alone.”
“Dis what we do here,” Chessie said. “Like it or not.”
Chessie lifted the dress and settled it over her head. Mercy pushed her arms through the sleeves, which stopped just above her elbows, and yards of material flowed over her hips. Stays in her corset pushed her chest up, the neckline revealed a deep décolletage, and the tight lacing made her waist impossibly tiny. She made her way to a mirror on the inside of the armoire door and looked at her reflection.
For a brief moment, Chessie’s image was beside her as she put things back into the armoire. She went briskly about her business, not giving Mercy a second look. Mercy tried again to draw her into conversation.
“How long did you work for my grandfather before you came to work for my father?” she asked.
“Yo’ granddaddy owned me twenty-five years ’fore yo’ daddy did,” Chessie said.
Mercy flushed. “That’s what I meant.”
Chessie leveled a look at her. “Den dat’s what you should say—’cause dat’s da way it was.”
“I’m sorry,” Mercy said.
Another long look from Chessie. “You kin save yo’ sorry for somethin’ dat matters. You need anything else from me right now?”
Mercy shook her head. “No. Thank you for your help.”
While Mercy watched, Chessie shuffled across the room with the empty bucket in hand, went out the door, and closed it soundly behind her.
Chapter Seventeen
Mercy descended the staircase and dropped a hand to her waist where one of the corset stays was pinching. This thing would explain what drove me to dress as a man, she thought. She stepped onto the foyer floor and made her way toward the sound of voices in what she assumed must be the dining room. When she stepped through the door, the faces of her family turned toward her. Mother, Victoria, and Beau all smiled, and she felt a thrill. She was home. She was where she belonged.
“Ah, here is the woman of the hour,” her mother said. “Right on time. You look lovely, dear.”
“Thank you,” Mercy said. She took a moment to look around the room. It was spacious and beautiful. The heavy mahogany pedestal table would easily seat twelve, and the high-backed chairs were upholstered in wine-colored brocade. In here, as in other rooms of the house, there were floor-to-ceiling paned windows with heavy draperies drawn back and tied with braided gold rope. A crystal chandelier hung from an intricate plaster medallion etched into the ceiling over the table. Two huge sideboards sat against opposite walls, but were noticeably bare of any kind of decorative adornment. Looking closer, Mercy could see further evidence of the Yankee occupation of the house. Wainscoting along the bottom half of the walls was damaged with dents and black marks, and the floral wallpaper on three walls was faded and had actually been stripped off in some places. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for the damage, other than to be simply—destructive. Beau must have seen her glancing about.
“Think of the countless meals we’ve had in this room,” he said.
“I wish I could,” Mercy said.
He reddened. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. That was thoughtless of me. I keep forgetting that you’ve …”
She smiled. “Forgotten?”
He returned her smile. “Yes.”
Her mother weighed in. “I hope you’ll forgive us when we say things—well, things like Beau just said.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Mercy said. “It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with my memory loss. I can’t expect you to get used to it in one evening.”
“What’s it like?” Beau asked.
Mercy thought for a moment. “Think of a book you’ve never read. Though it’s filled with pages, you open it halfway through. The story doesn’t make sense, so of course you flip back to the beginning to see how it all started, but the pages are blank. There are no answers, nor descriptions. No settings or plot points. No clever phrases written down or even the names of the characters—not even the story’s main character.”
“Sounds … frustrating,” Beau said.
“Frustrating. Frightening. Maddening,” she said. “I feel as if it’s a miracle I’m even here at all.”
“It does seem miraculous you were able to find your way back with so little information,” Beau said.
“Yes. Miraculous,” Mother said.
Before Mercy could answer, Elijah entered the dining room, wearing a clean white shirt and a pair of black trousers.
“I hope I’m not late?” he said.
“Not at all,” Suzanne said.
Beau moved to the sideboard and opened one of the doors to retrieve a glass decanter half filled with a dark liquid.
“Would you care for some brandy, Mr. Hale?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” Elijah said. “I fear it would be put me straight to sleep.”
Beau looked at Suzanne. “Brandy, Mother?”
“After all the excitement this afternoon, I think a brandy would be welcome,” she said.
“I’ll have one too,” Victoria said.
“No you won’t,” her mother said. “You’re too young.”
“I’m the same exact age as Beau minus three minutes,” Victoria said.
“You’re a woman.” Suzanne accepted her glass from Beau.
“So are you,” Victoria said.
As Beau added his two cents to the banter, Mercy tried to cover a smile by turning toward Elijah. She spoke with quiet, but evident amusement. “So this is what it’s like to be part of a family.”
Elijah smiled. “At times. You’ll get used to it.” She felt his appraisal of her appearance, but it didn’t feel the least bit intrusive.
“I must say you look very much at home in this room—that dress,” he said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said.
“That’s how it was intended.”
“Sorry, apparently I’m an unrepentant eavesdropper,” Beau said, “but I’d like to add my compliments as well, Char. I don’t ever recall seeing you in lavender, but the color becomes you.”
Mercy raised her brows at her sister. “Thank you. The dress was Victoria’s choice.”
Victoria smiled. “I have a little confession. You’ve always said you hated lavender.”
“Oh. Then
why did I have this dress?”
“I actually had that made for you on your seventeenth birthday, dear,” her mother said. “I always thought the color would be beautiful on you. I’m happy to say I was right. Shall we sit?”
Beau made his way to pull out the chair for his mother, then did the same for Mercy. Elijah pulled out Victoria’s chair before taking his own.
As if on cue, Rose, the housemaid, and a young Negro girl entered with trays and began to serve.
“I hope you enjoy venison, Mr. Hale. It’s just about all we eat these days,” Suzanne said.
“I do,” Elijah said. He looked at Beau. “You must be the hunter.”
Beau nodded. “Luckily, the deer are plentiful around here. I’ve got a blind at the edge of one of the rice fields, and they wander right past me.”
“I think, had Sherman’s army figured out a way to do it, they would have wiped out the entire deer population,” Suzanne said.
“We lost nearly all our pigs to a half-disciplined regiment of Yankees wielding knives and whooping it up.” Beau shook his head. “Our new piglets aren’t up to the proper weight to butcher yet.”
“Aren’t y’all going to mention the disaster with the chickens?” Victoria asked with a trace of sarcasm. “It seems to fit right into this conversation.”
“Chickens?” Mercy said.
“Something got inside the chicken coop about two weeks ago,” Beau said. “Nothing left there but feathers and cracked eggs …”
“Complete negligence on the part of the darkies,” Suzanne said. “Time and time again we’ve told them to latch the door to the coop, but did they listen? No. So the loss is coming from their wages. It’s the only way to make an impression …”
“All right, my appetite is officially ruined now,” Victoria said. “Not that it matters, because personally, I’m sick to death of venison.”
The young Negro girl put a basket of bread down on the table in front of Mercy who looked up at her and smiled. “Thank you.”
The girl ducked her head. She shot a look toward Suzanne, then said quickly, “Welcome home, Mizz Charlotte.”
“This is Biddy, Charlotte,” her mother said. “She was born on the plantation. Her mother and father work the fields now and Biddy is old enough to help Rose here in the house.”