Finding Mercy

by Cindy Kelley

  “Dey calls me Biddy on account of I’s an iddy biddy babe when I be born,” Biddy said. “You knowed dat once but Rose tell me you’s got a broken memory.”

  “I do, so I appreciate you telling me,” Mercy said. “Have you met my friend Isaac, Biddy?”

  “Yassum. He be havin’ a meal in the colored camp.”

  “I would really appreciate it if you would make him feel welcome.”

  “Yassum, Miss Charlotte,” Biddy said. “I surely will.”

  “Thank you, Biddy. That will be all now.” Suzanne waved her hand dismissively. The young girl made her way out of the dining room and Suzanne directed her attention to Elijah.

  “I’m wondering, Mr. Hale, if you and Charlotte were in the same regiment?” She shook her head at her own question. “It still sounds so odd to say …”

  Elijah fleetingly looked at Mercy before he answered. “No. We weren’t.”

  “How long have you known each other?”

  “I’d have to say we really weren’t formally introduced until about six months ago,” he said.

  Shifting her gaze to Mercy, Suzanne lifted her brows expectantly. “And where did you two meet?”

  “St. Louis. We were both at a social function and saw each other again,” Mercy said.

  “I had a pal who was imprisoned at Gratiot Street Prison in St. Louis,” Beau said. “Thankfully, he escaped and the town was so filled with Southern sympathizers, he found sanctuary in a home a block away from that horrible place.”

  Just hearing the name Gratiot Prison made Mercy shudder involuntarily. She drew in a breath, reached for her water glass, and found Suzanne staring at her with a quizzical expression.

  “Are you all right, Charlotte?”

  Mercy forced a smile. “Yes, I just had a chill is all.”

  “Someone just walked over your grave,” Victoria said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You remember that old saying, whenever you get a chill, it means someone walked over your future grave.”

  Oh, how close I’ve come to that, Mercy thought. She smiled at her younger sister. “I don’t remember hearing that.”

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Victoria said. “I keep forgetting you have—forgotten everything.”

  “Please don’t apologize anytime you say something that I don’t remember.”

  “Forgive me for asking, Char,” Beau said, “but I’m wondering if you remember basic things? Reading, writing, how to figure numbers?”

  “It seems strange,” she answered, “but I do remember all of that. I even kept a journal for a while to help me get things straight.”

  “At least you didn’t have to relearn simple skills,” Victoria said. “That must have been a relief.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Where are you from, Mr. Hale?” Suzanne asked. “You don’t sound as if you’re from the South.”

  “I grew up in Philadelphia,” he said. “In fact, I tried to get into West Point, but the appointment went to a senator’s son from our state.”

  “Money talks,” Beau said with an air of satisfaction.

  Elijah nodded. “Something like that.”

  “You came from a Yankee state and fought for the South?”

  “He just said he met Charlotte in St. Louis, Mother,” Beau said. “A city of split loyalties. Think about General John Pemberton. He was a Unionist rebel if there ever was one. Am I right, Hale?”

  Elijah nodded. “Yes, you are. General Pemberton grew up in the North but fought for the South.”

  Mercy wasn’t ready for the direction their conversation was headed, nor, she could see, was Elijah. So far he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true, but surely he couldn’t keep it up. Then Victoria saved them all from what could prove to be a heated discussion.

  “I’m sick to death of war talk,” Victoria said. “Surely there is another topic we can discuss without the words rebel or Yankee coming up in conversation.”

  “I would love to hear about the plantation,” Mercy said. “The way you are all managing to cope day to day.”

  Victoria sighed. “Oh pooh. Another boring topic.”

  “That boring topic is what puts food on this table and pretty dresses on your back, darling,” her mother said. “Without this place we’d all be homeless. You would do well to remember that.”

  “How could I not remember that?” Victoria said. “You won’t let me forget it.” She turned her gaze to Mercy. “I think you have the best of both worlds now, Char. You get to live in the present but can’t remember the awfulness of the past. I envy you.”

  Mercy caught an unvarnished look between Beau and their mother at Victoria’s comment.

  “Anyway,” Victoria continued, “I think we should talk about the homecoming party we’re giving in Charlotte’s honor!”

  “Homecoming party?” Mercy asked.

  “Yes, darling. We want all our friends and neighbors to know you’ve come home at last. We haven’t had a party in ages. Not since … well, not since your father and the war and all the unpleasantness.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t go to all that trouble,” Mercy said.

  “Oh, Charlotte … don’t spoil it,” Victoria said. “We’re finally going to have some fun around here. I wish we could get Uncle Thomas and Aunt Sarah here for the party.”

  “I have an aunt and uncle?” Mercy asked.

  Her mother nodded. “My brother and his wife. They live in Atlanta, but I’m afraid he’s not well enough to travel.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Mercy said.

  Suzanne sighed. “I used to go visit, but they live in the tiniest little house you’ve ever seen …” Her voice trailed off, and then she turned to Elijah. “Mr. Hale, we’d love to have you stay for the party. You brought our darling Charlotte home and we’re so grateful.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hale. You must stay,” Victoria said.

  “Maybe Hale has a job to get back to,” Beau said.

  “As a matter of fact, I had planned to leave in the morning. I have responsibilities to attend to …,” Elijah said.

  “We’re planning the party for Saturday,” Suzanne said. “It’s only a few days from now.”

  “Surely a few more days won’t matter,” Victoria said.

  “I really shouldn’t …”

  Mercy had been watching him and listening to his polite refusals to her newfound family. How could one man evoke so many different emotions from her? She should speak up and let him off the hook. It was the kind thing to do. She saw him look across the table at her, so she did.

  “I wish you would stay for the party, Elijah,” she said.

  His eyebrows rose and his mouth opened in surprise. “What?”

  “Please stay. You helped me get home. I would like you to stay and help celebrate with me.”

  For a moment, it seemed as if it were just the two of them in the room. He held her gaze for a heartbeat longer.

  “Thank you. I’d be happy to stay for the party.”

  “Splendid!” Victoria clapped her hands. “I can hardly stand it, I’m so excited. Now, if we could only find a few eligible bachelors to come to the house, I’ll be the happiest girl in McIntosh County.”

  “Really, Victoria, is that all you think about?” Beau asked.

  Victoria smiled unapologetically. “Yes.”

  “Charlotte, you and I and Victoria will go to Darien tomorrow,” her mother said. “We’ll issue invitations and pick up some of the things we’ll need for Saturday. And, Beau, maybe you might give Mr. Hale a tour of the plantation?”

  Beau looked at Elijah. “If you’re interested, that is?”

  “Very interested,” Elijah replied.

  “You never did say what you do for a living, Hale? Obviously not still soldiering?” He narrowed his eyes. “Or did y
ou take that insulting oath of allegiance to stay on?”

  “No, I didn’t take the oath,” Elijah said truthfully. “You might say I work on behalf of the railway companies out west. Making sure the workers and the trains go through without interference with the Indians in that region.”

  Victoria squealed her delight. “My, Mr. Hale, that sounds very exciting.”

  “Some days are more challenging than others,” Elijah said. He glanced around the table. “And, please, call me Elijah.”

  Rose made an appearance with a pitcher of water and began to refill glasses around the table.

  “Juba ask me to see if everything be the way you like it, missus?” Rose asked.

  “Tell her it’s fine, Rose,” Suzanne said.

  As Rose left the dining room, Suzanne shook her head. “I find it absolutely ridiculous that anytime one of our Negroes does the job they are supposed to do, they are fishing for compliments. For the love of God, we are employing them now. They receive compensation we can ill afford—but they need constant acknowledgment when a weed is pulled, a field is plowed, or a meal is cooked!”

  “Biddy turned down my bed last night and you’d think she performed a miracle,” Victoria said.

  Mercy kept her head down and her fork full as the conversation between her rediscovered family members continued. She had a sobering thought. Is that what I used to sound like?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mercy was tired as she and Elijah climbed the stairs to their respective rooms later that evening. They reached the top of the stairs and Elijah looked at her.

  “You’re sure you want me to stay for your big evening?”

  “Yes. Positive.”

  “I could just as easily leave as I planned in the morning and you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone finding out about my … occupation.”

  “You told them what you do,” she said. Then she frowned. “Is that what you do? Do you really keep the railways safe from attacking Indians?”

  He smiled. “It’s one of my jobs, yes.”

  “It sounds dangerous.”

  “Less dangerous than the war the two of us fought.” His chuckle was soft and wry.

  She shook her head. “I always forget that.”

  “Has this been anything like you imagined?” he asked. “The house, your family—your homecoming?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “I think I imagined—no, I hoped that I’d set foot in the door and everything would come flooding back.” She barely lifted her shoulders in a shrug and offered a wan smile. “Silly, I know.”

  “Not silly.”

  “It’s strange, though,” she said.

  “What?”

  She sighed. “I find it ironic it was the portrait of my father that brought me back—and now he’s the one who is gone.”

  “Sounds like he was quite a man.”

  She nodded. “Yes, it does.” A smile. “I am happy to be here. Happy to know that I have a place in the world.”

  “And a lovely place it is, Charlotte,” he said.

  “We’re alone, Elijah. You can call me Mercy.”

  He shook his head. “You’re Charlotte now. If you want to reclaim your home, your past—your family. From here on out, even when alone, you’ve got to reclaim your name as well.”

  Thoughtful, she nodded. “You’re right.” She cocked her head to one side. “Are you always right?”

  “If I have you believing that now, maybe I should leave in the morning before I prove it wrong.”

  Charlotte smiled. “Good night, Elijah.”

  Charlotte stepped into her room and closed the door. She was blessedly alone and could go back over the events of the day at her leisure. A fire burned cheerily in the fireplace—Chessie evidently had been there. The evening had grown quite cool once the sun set. The warmth of the fire felt good, and so did Charlotte.

  She’d been truthful when she told Elijah she was happy to be there. Maybe things would finally settle down and life would fall into a predictable rhythm. She’d had enough surprises and adventures to last a lifetime.

  She was humming when she went to the closet to hang up her dress. For once, she actually looked forward to the next day, what new things she’d learn. Who she would meet. She stepped closer to the bar to hang her dress, then looked down when her foot connected with something. Her saddlebags. More importantly—her journal. She pulled the leather book from the pouch and sat down on the bed. She thumbed through the many pages where her innermost thoughts were penned. Her hopes, dreams, fears—even bad decisions—were all written there for anyone to see. And the last people she wanted to see it were living in this house. Where to put it? The armoire or the desk? Maybe under the mattress. She knew what happened when the wrong people read it—knew it was as if she were baring her soul. She couldn’t risk it. There was no place safe enough to hide it. She made her way to the fireplace. It felt good to decide; felt right that she was going to erase any record of the past year of her life.

  Charlotte turned to the very first page of the journal and skimmed a few lines. It was as if a different person had written those things. A terrified young woman who wasn’t even sure she could get along in the world. She closed the book. Thought about how much had changed since the day she’d first dipped the nib of a pen into a jar of ink and written in that very book—I have woken up thirteen different times without a name.

  The search was over—and so was the need for the journal. Charlotte stepped closer to the fireplace. It’s the only answer. The only choice. Quickly, before she lost her nerve and changed her mind, she tossed the brown leather book into the flames. The flames danced around the cover of the journal, licking up the sides and devouring the pages. She watched as the pages turned to tiny bits of ash—then floated up and out of sight in the chimney.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The train rumbled down the tracks with clouds of smoke billowing back past the open windows. A good-sized piece of black ash from the smokestack landed on the back of a passenger’s hand that rested on the window ledge. Luther, a tall man who could appreciate the luxury of stretching out his long legs, flicked the ash from his hand and continued to stare at the ever-changing view of the countryside. He looked placid, calm, but his thoughts moved faster than the train he rode. He couldn’t make his mind still enough to match his outward countenance. Couldn’t stop his brain from going over the recent events that had led him to that very train.

  His traveling companions, Newt and Harland, had quickly found a high-stakes card game shortly after embarking at the Dover station, and had been holed up in the club car for most of the twenty-four hours they’d been traveling. The way Luther figured it, one or both would be so deep in debt from his losses, he would have to kiss the bounty money good-bye almost as soon as it hit his palm. Luther knew they were both marginal card players at best—but neither could resist the lure of a good game. Luther had never been a gambling man—couldn’t see risking his hard-earned money on the chance that luck would be with him. The biggest gamble he’d ever made was joining up with the army when Lincoln called for volunteers. He had gambled with his life that he’d live to see the end of the war—and he had. It seemed to Luther he’d used up all the luck allotted to any one man during those battles when he came away with both arms, legs, and even his sanity intact. Now he was in charge of his own providence. A man who made his luck based on his own wits and decisions.

  His thoughts went to poor, dead Shane. The kid had launched himself out the window of that boardinghouse, fueled by pure enthusiasm, which had led to his early demise. That kind of spontaneous action nearly always spelled disaster. Gus should have had a firmer hand with the kid. He wondered how Gus had fared with Pauline when he took the boy home. He’d always been a little jealous of Gus’s marriage. In Luther’s eyes, Pauline was the perfect woman. Looked good, but not so good you had to worry constantly about
other men trying to steal her away. Amiable in most situations—even when Gus went off to war she hadn’t sniffled and blubbered like a lot of other women he’d seen. Yes, as far as luck went with women, Gus had been blessed with it while Luther had not. Still, he knew Pauline’s Achilles’ heel had been Shane. Even as the boy was growing into a man, Pauline couldn’t see it. To her, he would always be an eight-year-old with a crush on his mama. For once, Luther hadn’t envied Gus one bit when he went home to his wife to tell her their son was dead.

  The train rumbled around a curve in the tracks, and he had to flick another ash from his hand. His lips turned up in a slight smile when he thought about the days ahead. Gus had always been the leader in their little missions, the one who had the connections that brought them the work. So even though it had never been stated categorically, Gus was the boss. But with Gus out of commission, Luther had been more than happy to step into the role. At first, Newt and Harland had balked when he’d started to lay out his plan to find Mercy. A small skirmish had erupted between them over who was really in charge, but Luther prevailed. He’d pulled a map from his saddlebag and traced the route that made the most sense.

  Now that she was positive someone was after her, he figured Mercy would take the quickest route south. It made sense—and Luther liked things to make sense. Newt and Harland had followed his plan grudgingly, and by the time they rode into Dover, Tennessee, they were convinced Luther was leading them the wrong way. She would’a crossed back over the state to throw us off, Luther. This is even more of a wild-goose chase than what Gus had us doing. But in a moment of loyalty, Luther reminded them that Gus had been right. And now they just needed to trust that Luther, too, would prove himself to be just as adept at finding her as Gus had been.

  The idea to stop for the night had been Harland’s. He’d refused to go any farther and, rather than incite mutiny, Luther agreed. But Luther already knew that depending on their successful outcome of finding Mercy, when he told this story in years to come, the detail of who wanted to stop at the hotel would change. It would be all his idea. As would the little history lesson he’d provide to whomever was listening. “Yes, sir,” he would say. “We rode into Dover and found the hotel in the heart of town. Little did we know at the time we were entering the headquarters of General Buckner, who used it as a staging place when he fought the Union for the rights to the Mississippi River Valley. Poor Buckner had to swallow his pride when he was forced to surrender to Union General Grant in that very same building. We walked in the door and stood where the first major Union victory of the War of the Rebellion had taken place.”